


Team Physical

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Banned Together Fills [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, F/M, Face-Fucking, Gangbang, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Mutual Masturbation, Orgy, POV Multiple, Pansexual Character, Pansexual Clint Barton, Pegging, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Switch Steve Rogers, everyone is poly because team cap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Food, and sleep, are two examples of the many surprising problems the serum brought him, ones he never would have thought of alone....They call it a team bonding activity, but they do so mostly because it’d be terrible to call it what it is anywhere they could be overheard.Team Cap and Thor, living in Wakanda, gangbang Steve to run down his super-serumed libido whenever he needs it.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Thor, Thor/Sam Wilson
Series: Banned Together Fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825168
Comments: 28
Kudos: 88





	Team Physical

**Author's Note:**

> This is a BTB2020 fill! I'm going for my **Slutty Fun** square with this one :D

Food, and sleep, are two examples of the many surprising problems the serum brought him, ones he never would have thought of alone. If he needs to be on watch, he can go days without eating, days without sleeping. But if he's on downtime, he can graze non-stop all day still ends up hungry at mealtimes, can get a good night's sleep and still take a nap after lunch. And if he's already spent a week in the field without food or sleep, he has to recover what he's missed. Like, say, consuming eight double cheeseburgers and then passing out for twenty-four hours or so. He runs on the supersoldier version of normal and turns necessity down when he's on high alert. But once his appetites have gone unsatisfied for a certain amount of time, he needs to catch up.

Steve didn’t have fantasies about it when it first started happening. In fact, in Europe, it took a ridiculous amount of time to occur to him (although that could be to do with what was occurring in Europe at the time), but the inklings were there from the start. He’d think about Bucky and Peggy (and sometimes faces of other people he knew he could trust, Gabe, and Howard, and Lettuce and Vera from the USO troupe). Back then, of course, he hadn’t realized Bucky still wanted him that way, and he used to think of Bucky and Peggy together way before he realized that what he really wanted was both. Daydreams about stolen moments in tents and briefing rooms became daydreams about catching them, became daydreams about striking deals or getting invitations, and then he figured one night that, holy moly, that made a way prettier picture. 

In ‘44, by the time he made it to the _Maison Close_ the boys had sung so much praise about, Steve would have been perfectly willing to pay out of his own earnings for the young man and the woman maybe five years his senior who did such a good job of showing him a good time. As it was, Buck had let slip that Steve might be more inexperienced than he was letting on, and the Howling Commandos had apparently saved up to buy the couple’s time as a gesture of goodwill. He certainly wasn't about to refuse such a gift and by the time he left, some two days after stumbling in – with the itchiness gone from under his skin and the heat that had clouded his mind now a mere memory – he'd still have been happy to walk back in and spend another night at double rates (or maybe spend a few hours working off any debt on the other side of one of those deals, not that he gave that particular interest too much thought at the time).

Best of all of it, the Commandos didn't make fun of him then, as he'd expected them to. No hollers and jibes, no digs at his age or prowess. Instead, they congratulated him the way brothers did, slapped him on the back, bought him a drink and were happy for him. And, when they all made ready to bed down later that night, on ground that was just about as far from the bed of a French bordello as you could get, Bucky - who’d never been the jealous type as long as he knew Steve was coming home to him - had rolled close in his bedroll with the kind of sparkle in his eye that said he knew just what had been given, just how important a gift it had been, and said,

“So, tell me all about it.”

By the time Steve had been out of the ice and had recovered enough from grief and future-shock that his body began to want again, it had been – for Steve, not counting the ice – three years since _Le Coussin Doré_. And at least six months since his skin had begun to feel uncomfortable. He ignored it, but he couldn’t ignore it forever.

But it’s easy, really, once they make that start. It starts out with something he says to Nat, one of the first things he admits to her. He knows she’s a spy, but it’s before he understands the scope of modern technology, before he understands how dangerous it is to give her so much of himself all in one go. He says, ‘nobody’s Bucky’ when he says he doesn’t want to date, and then he says what he always says about shared life experiences. 

But there are, he learns, plenty of people with shared life experiences. And, he also learns, he can trust her with a lot more than his life - he can trust her with his secrets, too.

She’s the one who shows up on his doorstep, Clint in tow, that first Christmas out of the ice, she and Clint are there when the smiles in those memories turn to pain and aching in a sparsely-furnished apartment with snow on the ground outside and nobody to bring an orange home to share. They’re the ones who teach him words like ‘bisexual’ and ‘demisexual,’ who teach him that an emotional connection doesn’t have to be romantic, and who teach him that a sexual encounter doesn’t have to be with someone you love if it’s with someone you trust. (He loves them, of course, just in a different way.)

And then Thor, because Thor just _is_ that way, figures it out. Thor, because _Thor just is that way_ , recognizes the closeness and the intuition in their movements when they fight, notices the easing of tension when they leave together and return together. Thor gets it, and wants in, and talks to Natasha first, apparently, who leads him to Steve and, really, with the serum raring to go at every available opportunity, and with Steve barely satisfied with two people in his bed already - besides which, have you _seen_ Thor? - only a madman would say no. 

After that, running laps around the Mall, Steve’s eye was caught - how could it not be? He’s an artist, so it makes sense to notice a work of art. Sam’s bright sense of humor and kind heart are all Steve really needs to know he wants to be friends, and then a great deal of life happens to both of them within the next few days. It’s difficult, Steve knows, not to feel soul-deep connections to the people you fight with. It’s strange - part of him ought to have known from the way he never felt kinship with STRIKE. But he couldn’t have foreseen it - nobody could. What he _could_ have foreseen was where they’d all end up afterward, mostly because it was all he could think to want. 

Once Bucky comes back to him, a shadow in the darkness of his sparse apartment, begging forgiveness and promising restraint, ‘if you want me to go, I’ll go,’ then what else could he need? Really need, not just the yearnings of a body to empowered to know when to stop, not just the musings of a distracted mind awhirl with different outcomes. He’d never needed, really needed, anything more than to love Bucky. 

Then again, his body’s objections to his heart’s sense of satisfaction have always been louder since the serum, and so they find themselves here, together and well-hidden, safe and with each other. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to any of them - not the two assassins skilled enough to hold their own against superhumans, not the man whose honor and integrity shone bright in all forms of darkness or the man who’d clawed tooth and nail to regain the autonomy stripped of him, nor the being whose entire existence was so much more pronounced than any human’s that he could easily be classed as a demigod - that it would be the man so far out of his time that rallied them, however surprising the means. 

So they call it a team bonding activity, but they do so mostly because it’d be terrible to call it what it is anywhere they could be overheard. 

This is extraction, of course. They’ve all been on separate missions (for too long) and, when the jet lands - taxi for team cap - Steve’s first out of his chair. He can’t help it, he needs to see them. Sam and Thor are waiting for them just beyond the treeline, and just as eager to see them as they all are to see Sam and Thor.

So they meet with hugs a smiles, warm hellos and gentle laughter. And then they come back. Nat stays in her seat, with Clint, and Bucky just stands at the bulkhead, arm up against the metal work, and watches. It’s once the greetings are over that they return to the jet, and then Sam is first, the instant the Quinjet boarding ramp closes behind them, wrenching his goggles down to clear his face, kissing Steve without any preamble. 

“Hey,” he says, in that inimitable way that means _I want you_ and his voice is low and soft, soothing the way only Sam can be. His hands are warm when he frames Steve's face with them, his mouth warmer still when they kiss again, and Sam kisses like he has all the time in the world, like Steve only needs to hold still and Sam will light the sun and turn the tides and make Steve's heart beat in his chest.

His tongue is hot and tastes of copper in Steve's mouth and Steve barely even notices when the cut on his own lower lip pulls open again; it's certainly not enough to stop either of them. Sam’s fingers search for purchase on the dark blue of the back of Steve’s uniform, and Steve hooks his fingertips in whatever straps he can find. He makes a noise when Sam’s fingers cinch a little too tight on one freshly-healed shoulder in an effort to pull him closer, but Sam swallows it, and it's about then that Steve's really grateful for Thor, who steps up behind him and closes huge, warm hands around his hips, pressing himself up along Steve's back to sink his teeth into Steve's neck.

Steve breaks away from Sam with a gasp, hips shifting back against Thor's of their own accord, and it's only Bucky’s polite cough that stops Steve getting on his knees right then and there – Steve's not sure if he should be grateful, his cock already at least half-hard, arousal already a fire in his blood. But it's Bucky who kisses him next anyway, slow and soft, one hand cradling Steve's cheek almost reverently while Thor slides one hand off Steve's hips to his chest, holding him back when he tries to chase Bucky’s lips. It’s ridiculous, he and Buck have been alternating pilot and copilot for the last eight hundred miles, but Steve can’t help it. Sam takes off Steve's gloves while Bucky’s kissing him and Steve flexes his fingers before he makes a grab for Bucky’s ass. He's not successful.

“Later, maybe,” Bucky says, as though this doesn't shock him at all – but still, who knows? Maybe he's just used to this by now. 

Heaven knows Steve is, couldn't survive without it, and he learned that lesson the hard way. Young, bound by grief, unaccustomed to the future, the fire kept in hidden inside of him had been nothing more than glowing embers when he had so little time for it. But it grew stronger as his life moved onward, as the future became a home to him. Unaware of it himself, he ignored the first flutterings of it, and even the most obvious of signs, until it became impossible to pretend it was nothing, until there was nothing he could do but seek assistance. And, even then, after so long, there weren’t many people he could trust with it. Thank god he’d picked friends and not doctors. 

But Steve's libido had most certainly kicked itself into overdrive shortly after the events of the Battle of New York. Blaming post-battle adrenalin, he continued guiltily stealing moments to tend to his own body, hoping to stifle his growing arousal early. He knew they’d thought he was kidding to being with, Clint and Nat. Until he told Clint;

“I was never like this before, it never hurt like this before.”

And Clint had paused, the smirk slipping a little from his face.

“It's _hurting_ you?” 

But they all know better by now. As it is, Clint only gets a chance because Bucky’s going to go back and pilot the jet.

“Doin’ this now, huh?” Clint asks as the engines spin up. “Couldn’t wait?”

Thor readjusts his grip so that he can hold Stev’s arms behind his back by the crooks of his elbows, and Clint takes full advantage, sliding his hands around Steve's waist until he reaches Thor, drawing his hands back to stroke at Steve's flanks. It never fails to surprise Steve just how gentle Clint can be. When he kisses Steve, it's a lot like Bucky, long and smooth in all the ways Steve never can be straight after a fight – Steve likes the contrast, relishes it. 

Thor, meanwhile, is getting hard against Steve's ass and it takes every ounce of self control not to beg for him already – any of them, and he wants to. Wants to beg and plead until they give him what he wants but Thor's still keeping Steve motionless for the most part, and that's as much about love as it is about control; none of them know how injured any of them actually are, and Thor doesn't like to take risks with the people he cares about. The less movement the better.

Thor has taken to soothing his bite marks with his tongue in hot, wet lines when Clint shoves one thigh between Steve's, and he’s got no problem causing friction and staying upright while he goes back to kissing the living daylights out of Steve, and it's good, oh, it's good. Steve pulls against Thor's grip and rolls his hips forward, sending sparks up his spine it's so good. And Steve kisses like he's drowning, always has and probably always will. He can't help it, can't help opening himself up to it, can't help chasing the other person, can't help needing it and holding on to it with as much gusto as he can muster. He wants to slide his fingers through Clint’s hair, hold his head, cradle his skull. Thor won’t let him, so this will have to do for now, this press against leather only warm from the body inside it, and kissing and kissing and kissing.

Natasha stays where she is until Clint comes up for air, and that's when she stands up and takes hold and drags Steve's head down by his hair to kiss him too, molding her body against his because Thor still won't let him go. As she takes hold of Steve, wrapping herself around him the way only she can, Thor grasps his wrists to hold him back, to keep him still, to make sure they don't go too far in the Quinjet. (it wouldn't be a disaster if they do, just less comfortable, less private, and a longer walk to bed when they're done). 

The swell of Natasha's breasts press against the gap in the center of Steve's chest where the star used to sit, something she pulls him down to do, presses herself up to make sure of, because she knows him well, knows how the soft press of yielding flesh is everything that brings the warmth to his skin. When she drops one hand to the front of his suit trousers just to make sure it's all having the desired effect, she smiles as he gasps, pressing herself closer still, and Steve wishes his arms were free, wants to unzip her suit, wants handfuls of soft, warm flesh. And then she's curling her fingers forward to squeeze at his swollen cock through the uniform pants, and his mouth drops open just a little more as the sparks bleed outward from her fingers. She swallows the moan he gives her.

“After medical, we'll put the bedding down in the living room,” she says, a promise murmured against his mouth as though it's just for him to hear, the seductive lilt to her voice like the sway of her hips, and Thor's grip on him tightens much as he wishes it wouldn't. 

If he could just pull away and take hold of her - but Thor isn't letting him move.

It's a good plan though, to set up in the living room. They do it more and more often these days – there's more room in there and it's nice to have various different pieces of furniture, there are places to rest for people who need it, places to sit and watch for those who want to.

But team health is still priority, and nobody's letting Steve get ahead of everything any time soon. At least they don't have to worry about a debrief. 

“I wish to know if any one of you holds objections,” Thor says, the vibration of his voice snapping down the length of Steve's spine, and Steve moans because he can't help it. Thor chuckles low and smooth in his ear before he continues – he knows exactly what he does to Steve. “I would very much like to secure the Captain until we are safely aboard the carrier.”

And Steve's not sure if it's that he pulls a face that looks like he's close enough to pleading or whether they just pity on him because he's acting pitifully, but the meaning gets across. Natasha moves away with a long, lingering kiss for Steve to remember her by before she sets about determining how much of Sam’s wingpack is damaged.

Thor takes the opportunity to let go, to sit down in one of the Quinjet's seats. It's far easier to do since they removed the armrests for his physique but he takes Steve with him, turns Steve around, tugs him forward and down, somehow without jarring him, until Steve takes the hint and straddles his lap. It's kind of strange to do this while they're all still wearing suits, but the way Thor's hands slide up his spine and hold him, with enough strength that he knows he safe and he also knows he can't get away, would be distraction enough. Even so, the edge of Thor's armor comes down to Thor's belly and it's flat and blunt, the raised designs proving more than enough for Steve to grind against with a rhythm that isn't slow enough to be lazy. He's almost beyond the flush of warmth he feels when he does at knowing they're not alone, knowing the others are watching him do it. But it's still almost too much, a deep-seated panic that someone might disapprove, that someone might tell him to stop.

Relief washes over Steve like a wave when Thor kisses him again, deeper and slower than before, licking into Steve's mouth with a rumble of sound that's like thunder in his chest, and one hand slows Steve's hips so he doesn't ruin his suit by the time they make it back. The thought of it makes Steve want to be there all the more quickly.

“Can't we,” Steve gasps between kisses, already out of breath as arousal makes his skin begin to prickle, “just-” Thor kisses him again and Bucky answers his question before he gets to finish it.

“No,” he says, in a voice that brooks no argument, the voice that makes Steve's spine straighten and his ears prick up, the voice Steve adores, “I saw you take that concrete to the shoulder, and _I think_ it hit that pretty head of yours.” Thor corroborates Bucky’s last statement by running his clever fingers through Steve's hair, firm but gentle and sending the wave of a cool shiver over Steve's body. Steve tilts his head back into it and moans while Thor attacks his throat with his mouth instead so that he's caught where he is as Bucky continues. “Medical first, then gangbang at the tower.”

Sam chuckles, Clint might too, but Steve's curling aching fingers in Thor's hair – shorter, softer, lighter since he came back – and manages to find Thor's mouth with his own once more with the thoughts of _Yes,_ and _please_.

~

They all fell in eventually. They went from taking their turns with Steve to gathering to watch each other taking turns with him. And it wasn't far from there to get to the things they'd never said about each other. The way Bucky has always really liked the little scars on the back of Sam's hands and wondered how they'd feel, the way Steve's hands have always itched to cup Natasha's breasts, the way Thor's warrior's eye had always followed the taut lines of Clint's arms. Together they're perfect – agents and friends, humans and aliens, soldiers and assassins- 

It doesn't help that they follow him to medical, except it does. It's a thin line between gratitude and desire when they do this, and they always do this whether he asks or not; gathering just closely enough around him that the medics can do their job and they're still able to touch if they want, if he needs. Thor, for example, sits behind him on the gurney with one leg either side of him, so that Steve not only can't go anywhere, can't fall, can't do himself any damage, but gets a hug too.

The huge, warm (so warm) arms around him are a distraction, but it's also a comfort and, he knows they'd leave if he asked, but he still can't refuse them, especially when Natasha's massaging his good shoulder – Bucky was right, there's a little damage from the concrete but it's nothing that won't heal – and pressing her lips to his bare skin in between so that the touch of them lingers each time, a scattered jumble of sensation over the muscle. He wants to leave now because he _wants them_ now, because his head is good to go and so, if the tightness of his suit is anything to go by, is the rest of him.

“We showering here?” Sam asks, and Steve holds as still as possible while one of the medical staff check his pupils yet again.

“Are you?” he says instantly. “I am if you are.”

Clint laughs. “Nah,we'll go home, get set up,” and doesn't that have a nice ring to it? _Home._ “You and Thor wash up and come join us when you're ready.”

“Plan,” Steve says, not needing to be able to look in order to point at Clint in approval. 

They were meant to do this last week, when Steve got back from a far-too-long black ops mission in Tasmania. Burning HYDRA nests never sat too well with him though he's glad to do it – not because of the people there. The people there deserve what he gives them, always will. But hot on the heels of the exultation comes the need for closeness and comradeship and the knowledge that everyone's still okay. Even if he hadn't been gone for three weeks, he'd have wanted time and skin when he came home.

Except that everyone was out on their own missions while Steve was planning a rest around the semi-regular _Team Physical._

“Why aren't we home?” Steve murmurs as Thor kisses a line up the back of his neck.

Clint and Bucky and Natasha all steal a kiss on their way past once the medic puts down the penlight, and Thor waits for Steve to reach for his shirt to redress, waits until he's stretched out with his arms up, before he grabs him around the torso from behind and dips him sideways like a movie star, leaning over him to kiss him even though Steve's still near enough sitting on the edge of the gurney. 

Steve grabs at him, arms around his neck, that suddenly-off-balance feeling overriding the fact that Thor would never, ever let him fall. And Thor lifts Steve upright again when he's done, too, which is nice of him, and Steve's only a little dazed.

“Take your time,” Sam says, leaning in to kiss him just once before he sidles out of the door. 

Steve just smiles as Thor wraps him in an embrace from behind that would be innocent if he weren't rolling one of Steve's nipples under his thumb every time the medic looks away, and they let the medic finish up with a few pieces of helpful advice (eat, drink, don't be too merry until the dizziness dies down). 

It's not until he's got cold tile against his back and Thor's mouth on him, water streaming over him, that he really notices how desperate for this he is. Everyone else obviously noticed, and he's grateful for what they gave him, but Thor's mouth is hot and wet and-

 _“Oh,”_ he gasps, and only doesn't slam his head back against the wall because he's recently been advised not to. 

One splitting headache a day is enough, one concussion heals itself but two aren't worth the risk. 

Instead he spreads his legs a little more and arches his back as Thor's lips slide down the length of his cock with an expertise Steve wonders if he’ll ever possess himself, fingertips pressing at his perineum. This is something to tide him over, to keep the edge off until they get home, _home,_ home where everyone will be waiting for him, where they'll all make sure he sleeps easy tonight. He curls his fingers in the wet strands of Thor's hair, doesn't pull but cradles his skull as pleasure unwinds in his belly, and Thor's other huge hand is on the back of his thigh, pulling his hips forward, encouraging him to move. Steve does, can't help himself, a slow rocking of his hips that only drives him higher. Thor pulls off for a second, rubs his chin against Steve's lower stomach, right beside his cock, and his beard is soaked too but still coarse enough that Steve bites his lower lip to keep from begging at the rough scratch of it. Not here, not now, not with open cubicles and surveillance there to see it, though he doubts at all that the Wakandans are invasive the way SHIELD used to be. Still, he can’t help feeling like their manners are terrible that they’re doing this in the wet room of a ward, even if they _were_ the only people on it.

When Thor pulls back, it's all at once and takes him by surprise – cold and wet and steals the pleasure away like a blow, and he'd arch to follow it if the wall weren't there to stop him. Instead, his hips roll forward and he struggles for breath with a gasping, 

“ _Thor!_ ” 

“We've time for it later,” Thor answers, smirking as he stands, Steve's arousal a heavy ache between his legs, “to do it now would be unfair to those that cannot see you now. For now, we've both to be clean; _that_ is our objective.”

It might be Thor's objective but it's not Steve's - he's got a hand around Thor in an instant despite Thor's words, and he lets Thor pin him to the tiles as he does his best to jerk him off, hard and fast, both of them smiling.

“Good to go?” Steve says, breathing Thor's air as he keeps his breathing steady somehow, one warm hand cradling the back of Steve's head and the other on Steve's ass, blunt fingernails digging in. “Come on, Thor, jus' lemme make you-”

“Leave go,” Thor says, and Steve's hand slows a little as the words register, eyes widening a moment later. “And turn around.”

***

When they’re home, inside, when they get to where they’re going, Thor walks Steve forward, his chest to Steve's back, his arms around Steve's torso. He's warm and solid and Steve wouldn't be able to stop even if he wanted to – Thor could lift him easily and it's why Thor's with Steve to start with. Steve wears track pants and a cotton tee and not much else – the shoes he wore out of necessity are left in the foyer. He's not going to need them, not going to need any of his clothes soon enough, and this place, their home, will be inaccessible as soon as the doors close behind them both.

Everyone else has showered, changed – they must have because Natasha doesn't fight in underwear like the lace and silk that match her hair now. She perches on the arm of the couch and then, next to her in black shorts and a gray-green t-shirt sits Sam. Clint's next, his gray boxer-shorts leaving little to the imagination, proving he's already waiting to take his place. Bucky’s dressed once more in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans.

The floor's covered mostly by what looks like the same quilts as those found in the bedrooms – thick and soft, and unlikely to burn the skin because they’ve been designed not to – and Steve knows well, just as Thor does, that the whole place will have been set like a table before a feast to make sure nothing is missing, no one is left wanting. Lube and condoms are scattered about, more than either of them probably notices, but Steve's breath catches in his chest just seeing them all there. 

“Looks pretty good to me,” Steve says, and he thinks he sounds pretty coherent, thanks. 

“Shhh,” Thor says, breath hot against his ear, stroking his huge hands up Steve's front so that the movement drags his tee up with it and draws heat in its wake that seems to sink into his skin. Steve arches his back, lifts his hands to Thor's head as his next breath in shudders. “Calm yourself, we have time.”

“Well maybe if you'd let me come in the shower,” Steve says, with no real heat behind it, and Thor only chuckles.

The rest of them are silent for now, and that's for Steve, this is all for Steve. Steve still can’t give in to his desires easily, can't bare skin and bare himself without being eased into it first, no matter how much he wants to, and he _wants_ to.

Sometimes he’ll begin alone – then one of them, any one of them, will go to him, bring him gently to the idea of it until he is ready for others to join. But at times like this, when less time is needed, they just stay quiet until Steve’s ready for them, holding back so that Steve can ignore their presence while his mind catches up to his body's yearning for it. Thor turns Steve's head back to kiss him, a hand at Steve's throat that's big enough to cover him from collarbone to chin, and he pauses only so that he can tug the soft cotton over Steve's head and off his arms. Steve feels it send his still-shower-damp hair into disarray, feels the cool, air-conditioned air against the skin over his collarbones and the hollow at the base of his throat that he knows is flushed by now.

And Steve lets his head roll as Thor's hands wander, his own hands weak and uncoordinated. He settles one on Thor's head as Thor mouths at his shoulders, his throat, the back of his neck, and his other hand follows Thor's, gripping Thor's wrist for an anchor as he gasps and murmurs. It's maddeningly slow, soft and gentle and _not enough_ though the tenderness borders on too much at the same time. He's only half aware of Thor's mouth, half able to follow the movement, and his breathing is already unsteady, already rattles in his chest while he fights to get as much oxygen as he need.

“You consent?” Thor lifts his head to murmur, and gooseflesh rises all over Steve's skin.

“I consent,” Steve answers softly, little more than a breath, his mouth falling open as Thor eases the waistband of the soft gray material down over his narrow hips, over his already-straining erection.

He can feel the band ease down, feel the air on his skin as it's bared inch by slow in, and Steve has to shift his stance so that they'll drop past his knees to pool at his feet, the thickness of his thighs trapping the fabric for a moment. He arches his back, cants his hips down and they fall, and Thor strokes his body ceaselessly, his hands smooth and warm on Steve's stomach, fingertips dipping into the cradle of Steve's hips. Thor's hands arouse Steve at the best of times, let alone now, when Steve's whole body sings like an exposed nerve for _something, anything_. 

Someone hums in appreciation and it is too early, trips something inside Steve that makes turn his face towards Thor's neck, makes him want to hide even though he wants more. Thor only presses his mouth to Steve's forehead, stroking his stomach and the tops of his thighs, up to knead the muscles in his chest and his shoulders. Steve likes that, likes hands on him, likes stroking and touching and being held and moved and grasped at. He likes that, even being stronger than most everyone, Thor can sidle up and move him in whatever way he wants him. Steve likes that there is someone with whom he can still let go.

Still, this is taking too long. Steve's erection hasn't flagged, thick and aching as it is, and it stands proud and dusky from the thatch of dark blond that climbs up to his navel. He shivers when Thor runs his fingertips through the curls and rubs with the flat of his palm against the sensitive crease where Steve's thigh meets his torso, sighs, curls his fingers in Thor's hair and grips Thor's wrist so tightly with his other hand that he'd be sure to break bones if it were anyone else. It's so gentle, makes his nerves too sensitive, makes the pleasure run too deep and Thor is an anchor to Steve. Thor knows it, this is a way to for Steve to keep himself from that dreadful urge to cover himself even though he knows it looks as though he was made to be put on display. 

_They've seen this before, they've seen you naked, they've watched you come apart before_ and Steve lifts his head the next time, turns his face toward Thor and arches his back with a gasp as Thor's hands sweep downward. Thor kisses him because he knows it's what Steve wants and, for a moment as long as Steve needs it to be, Thor is all he knows. He doesn't exist save for where Thor's hands touch, where Thor's mouth works against his own, where Thor's hair spills over both their shoulders.

When Thor breaks the kiss, it's slowly and carefully, and Steve opens his eyes to look at him so that Thor is all he sees.

“Walk with me,” Thor says softly, spreading his huge hands on Steve's stomach though they're not big enough (he wants them lower and broader, he wants to be touched all over, he wants every inch of skin covered, not a millimeter left without Thor's warmth), and Steve's grateful for Thor's choice of words – if Thor said _come_ then Steve just might. 

And then Thor moves them forward, one step at a time with Steve's eyes half closed, Steve's head bowed and his shoulders loose and the muscles of his body shifting against the muscle of Thor's, Thor's legs driving Steve's forward, Thor's body a bolster at his back. He can't stop, he can't turn and leave (he doesn't want to, he doesn't _want_ to want to), he can only go where he's made to, and so it’s easy. Steve closes his eyes and goes willingly, trusts him utterly and blindly and, when Thor stops them at the couch, at the space left between Sam and Natasha, Steve turns to face him without being told to, loops his arms around Thor's neck and stands on his toes to kiss him, to press his skin to Thor's shirt, his erection tight against Thor's hip though the fabric of Thor is wearing trousers so there’s still fabric between them. 

The kiss is fast and messy and Thor's tongue is hot and slick, and Steve's breaths come hard. Thor holds onto Steve and Steve’s grateful for it, for the hand flat in the middle of his back while the other settles on his backside and squeezes, kneading the muscle there, too. It's a suggestion, a promise, and Steve doesn't moan at him so much as snuffle with small, helpless, gasping little sounds, hands that want for purchase but aren't satisfied when they find it.

“What are you after?” Thor asks, and Steve shakes his head as Thor dips clever fingertips between his cheeks and down, stroking sensitive skin, rubbing over the tight ring of muscle, and Steve tries his best not to remember that everyone can see this even as he feels the muscles in the backs of his thighs flex and tighten, his cock jerking up against Thor's hip. “You want me to take you?”

Steve huffs a laugh and nods, pressing his forehead to Thor's chest with the dizzying rush of _yes_ that thought brings with it. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda like _everybody_ to take me at some point.”

Thor laughs softly, and Steve feels lips press against his head a moment later. “I believe it can be arranged. Who do you desire first?”

But Steve's feels his fingers tighten where they are – for now – at Thor's shoulder and hip. 

“Don't,” he says, and the word might not mean much by itself but he knows Thor understands it; _don't leave, don't go, don't step away because I'm not ready to let you go yet._

“Aye,” Thor says. “We'll sit-”

“But can you take-” Steve answers, tugging at Thor's clothes because Thor is still dressed and all of Steve's skin is pressed to fabric and he needs more than that, wants all of what he knows there is, and it's almost a physical pain that it's not already available. “Come on-” 

Thor stops him with a movement as gentle as it is devastating, smoothing Steve's hair back from his forehead as the other hand squeezes again, and it works for a moment or two, directing Steve's frenzied attention forward as Thor holds his gaze.

“Aye, I can,” he says. “I will, wait a moment.”

But _wait a moment_ isn't good enough. _wait a moment_ means awful, cold things like _step back_ stop and though Steve hears, he doesn't listen. Thor makes to take off his shirt and Steve's hands are on him he can't help it. His fingers are aching and his palms are itching and he wants to touch, he _needs_ to touch. The advantage is that Steve is still a tactician. Where other people might obstruct through a desire to help, Steve only achieves his objective, and Thor is undressed in half the time it would have taken alone, despite the fact that Steve kisses and mouths at his skin constantly. 

Steve doesn't leave marks – wouldn't if he could – but it's like Thor’s something ancient and essential, as though Thor's skin is as necessary as air. It is the same way Thor kisses, like he’s breathing life into Steve.

“Lemme,” Steve says breathlessly, attempting to work his way down, kissing and sucking at Thor's shoulders, his collarbones, his chest, down as far as one nipple before Thor grasps Steve's upper arms in his hands and draws him back so that they are face to face again. 

“In time,” Thor says carefully, slowly, enunciating each word as clearly as he can like a mild admonishment, and Steve feels a little foolish though he can barely keep himself still. Perhaps he should have more control, perhaps he shouldn't be so desperate but _that's why they're here._

He has his back to the rest of them. Steve knows where they were, of course. He mapped them out when he caught a glimpse of them before, the second he came out of the elevator. Natasha, Sam and Clint will be watching them and, if none of them have moved, he knows where – Sam sitting passively the way he almost always does until he knows exactly what it is Steve wants, Clint, sitting with his hips tilted downward for pressure and friction, and Natasha, sitting quietly and observing, and looking like a vision in coral colored lace. Clint, as pansexual as it’s possible to be, sits back happily, one hand in his shorts, the other in Sam’s, both moving.

Thor has a look about him, though, something that sparkles in his eyes. Steve figures it out a split second before Thor moves – this is his punishment for not standing still when Thor told him to, and it makes Steve's breath catch in his chest. Thor grabs at him, manhandles Steve until he's turned around to face the couch again. And then he shoves Steve forward onto his knees on the cushions to face the back of the couch because he knows Steve enjoys it, and follows him to kneel behind him, grabbing at him and wrapping his arms around Steve as he laughs against Steve's skin.

This, _this_ is what Steve wants, he wants Thor like this, close enough that their skin sticks and he can feel Thor breathe as he rears back to press them together, murmuring sounds that aren't even words at him. But Thor is playing a different game now, and Steve turns his head back for a kiss Thor does not give, tries to hold Thor's hands, tries to grasp at Thor's wrists but can't, only brushing the skin with his fingers. It takes him a few moments to understand that Thor isn't going to let him hold his hands, that this is not an embrace, not the kind of hand-holding Steve is used to. Thor keeps knocking his hands down, away, until he's forcing Steve's hands _down_ to the back of the couch.

It's a thrill to fight him, to move his hands when Thor wants them, to try and get away when he knows Thor wants him still – because he knows he'd never manage it unless Thor allows it, just as Thor wouldn't act this way unless Steve wanted it. 

Eventually, Steve gives in and lets Thor make him do it, setting his hands down on the back of the couch with a soft exhalation that's just about all he can manage, his fingers turning white-knuckled around the frame with anticipation as Thor holds his hands down for a moment. Steve _whines_ when Thor bends them forward over the back of the couch with nothing more than his own strength, his front to Steve's back, his cock hot and hard against Steve ass. And Steve is already squirming, tipping his head back with a soft moan when Thor sucks on the lobe of his ear and bites at the shell. Steve's hair is damp now, not only from the shower but from the sweat that's starting to itch at his temples. 

Thor reaches up, leans forward and wrenches Steve's head around by his jaw to kiss him, thoroughly and soundly, and Steve cannot follow when he moves away. It doesn't stop him trying. Steve even looks back over his shoulder when Thor starts mouthing a hot, wet line down his spine, gasping as his backbone shifts beneath Thor's lips.

Steve registers Natasha getting up just as he sets his head down on the back of the couch, his whole upper body twisted so that he can watch what Thor does to him. He doesn't need to see, of course – with Steve kneeling on the cushions so that he is bent over the back of the couch, Thor's objective is obvious by the time he kneels on the floor behind Steve, and Steve hears his own soft little moans of anticipation rise in volume ever so slightly as Thor scrapes his teeth up the back of his thigh, sharp but careful. Thor knows he’s clean, Thor was there.

“Hey,” Natasha says softly, somewhere 'above' him where he's twisted half-on and half-against the back of the couch.

He shifts immediately to look up at her, a smooth, too-fast ripple of movement that leaves him dizzy, makes the rush of blood spread out across his cheeks and his nose to his ears, his lips swollen and parted as he gasps for air. She’s moved to stand behind the couch to bring them near enough face to face. 

“Hey,” he says, the breath escaping him in a rush as astounded at the sight of her as he is, and she takes his head in her hands and kisses him.

He doesn't let go of the back of the couch – but only because he can't. It was an unspoken order that made him put his hands there and he's way too far gone to remember where his hands are, to remember that they still work.

She tastes warm, and safe, and there's something about her now that's never there when he's satisfied. 

His body jolts when Thor's tongue, hot and wet, laps at him slowly, a long and thorough lick of the flat of his tongue from Steve's perineum almost to the small of his back that makes Steve break away from Natasha to moan in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fallen open. For a short while, he doesn't dare move as Thor does it again, and again, and she strokes his fevered skin and cards her fingers through his damp hair while he tries to breathe. 

It's one hell of a lot harder than it usually is to force oxygen to his brain and she strokes his throat when he bares it. Thor chooses that moment to start proper, finding the entrance to Steve's body and probing into it with his tongue, and Steve tilts his head back and gasps, Natasha's hands cradling his skull when his head falls forward again, the movement jerky and half aborted as another spike of pleasure curls up inside him. 

Steve moans helplessly, all the muscle he's been gifted with now at the mercy of a demigod, where Thor opens him up with nothing more than the skill of his tongue. 

“Ohn,” he whispers, and his body begins to rock with Thor's movements a moment later, seeking more because he can't help it. “Ohh, I...”

He knows because he can _feel_ that Thor's face is buried against him, his head bobbing and turning, and he has to remind himself that it's because Thor _wants_ to do this, part of his mind still surprised that anyone would enjoy doing _this_ to him. It's easier to remember now, when Thor curls his tongue and _pushes_ with it, and he forces his eyes open to look at Natasha, to stare up at her the way she wants. She smiles broadly when his eyes open, raising one eyebrow at him. He might say something then but Thor hums against him, and the sound he makes is loud enough to send a shiver through Steve that wracks his whole body.

Thor's still moving his hands, huge paws roaming over Steve's over-sensitized skin, and Steve feels so small in comparison, so much pleasure and so little room to move. He tries hard to keep still instead of leaning into each touch, instead of dropping his head to rest it on his hands for a moment until it grows too much and he's tossing his head back again.

“Nat,” Steve says, the sound longer this time, more plaintive, and there is sweat beading on his brow.

The sound of wood on the carpet distracts him and he manages to reopens his eyes to see, dropping his head to look down. She's pulled the nearest footstool towards herself with her foot, and he knows what that means, knows what he gets when she does this. When he looks back up at her, her eyes are dark and her gaze is hungry and he knows that he must look the same, feels a dark shard of selfish want pierce the haze of pleasure even as Thor's tongue delves deeper.

“You want?” she says, looking down at him over her breasts, and he wets his lips and nods twice with a hitch of breath and a flinch at Thor's undulating tongue that shakes his whole body before he can even find the word to speak it.

“Yeah,” he says, an exhalation that's rough and low and full of all the raw want he hadn't even thought himself capable of when they'd first met.

He feels different like this, not so young, not so shielded, not so guarded. This is baser, there's a rawness to him as though he might bare his teeth and growl if she doesn't succumb to him. It's not quite anger, though his anger is similar. This is lust, unbridled and unashamed, and from the look on her face it must suit him.

“Come _here,_ ” he says, manages to shift one hand to set it on her waist and haul her a little closer.

And she smiles her praise at him, runs her tongue across his lips and draws it back before he can make it the kiss he wants it to be, and then she holds his head in hands still so delicate, still so slender, and kneels on the footstool so that her height is more conducive to his getting what he wants. He slides his hand up to her back to keep her where she is, and she chuckles softly.

Like this, his head is at her shoulders and she doesn't need to lean down at all when she cradles his head and draws it forward, arches her back to present her breasts to him. He presses his face between them with a rasping groan, his own breath coming back hot from against her skin, palm damp against the skin of her back.

She holds him there for a time, lets him breathe against her chest, and he doesn't know what she's looking at – maybe at Thor, maybe she thinks about the last time Thor did this for her - but it doesn't matter either. When he's like this, the rest of the world is gone again, just his face against Natasha's chest, her hands in his hair, Thor's hands on his body, Thor's _tongue_ inside him. And Steve whimpers against her skin as Thor slows, presses himself closer, further. It's a nice way to be opened up if you're into that kind of thing. And Steve is.

Steve's toes curl, he hears the creak of the wood as his fingers tighten, and he lifts his head to turn his cheek against her right breast, his eyes closed tight again and his mouth half-pressed to the coral-colored lace. He needs her, needs both of them and Thor is so, so good at this, the slick, slow slide of his tongue opening him up from the inside out. He draws a great, heaving gasp and moans as Thor resumes his pace with his hands against Steve's ass to spread him wider, and he can feel the tension in his own neck as Natasha wraps her arms around his head, feel Thor's motions in the sway of his body against her hers.

She murmurs at him in Russian, ducks her head and mutters words into his ear that praise him, encourage him, and he hears himself makes a sound like a wounded animal when she tells him he's good. She rubs his ears between her fingertips because she knows that he loves it, and she soothes the lines of tension from his brow though they return almost instantly, only letting go when he shakes his head.

She takes her hands away immediately because she knows that sometimes it's too much, sometimes he needs a step back. But not this time.

Instead he finds her left nipple through the lace with his mouth where it's already small and hard, and he suckles at it, his mouth wet and searching and thorough to leave the lace cool and clinging when he stops to breathe again. He opens his eyes to look down the length of her and she gives him a noise of appreciation, arches her back a little more and threads her fingers into his hair, pushes the swell of her breast against his mouth as he begins again, and he gazes up at her even though he's trembling all over. They taught him this, put him to good use one lazy afternoon when it had just been him and Clint and her, learned what she likes and now he's good at it, knows her right nipple is more sensitive, knows that if she wants it at all then she likes a little biting now and again.

The next time he moans, as Thor shakes his head with his tongue still inside Steve, Steve's eyes flutter closed and he sucks _hard_. Natasha draws her lower lip into her mouth and allows her body to arch towards him. She's beautiful, and there's somethiing amazing in doing this, in knowing she lets him do this to her. There's power, too, in having his hand still at her back, in having her trust him enough to let him prove he'll never let her fall.

His eyes are still open when she withdraws one hand from his head, runs it over her right breast and he follows the movement with his eyes. Thor goes on, never ceasing, lapping and probing as she smiles, and then she tugs at the lace over her right breast, drawing it down enough to expose the small, bright circle of rosy skin that hardens and darkens in the cooler air - an offer and a demand all rolled up into one.

He can't not, giving her the small sound of relief that bubbles up inside of him, and he latches on immediately, closing his eyes again so savor the taste of her skin, the scent of the soap she uses, sucking so hard he can press her nipple to the roof of his mouth with the flat of his tongue.

She hums softly and a swell of pride he's half-ashamed of blossoms in his chest as her fingers tighten in his hair. 

_«That's nice,»_ she says in Russian, clutching at his head, his shoulders, and he sighs through his nose because he doesn't _need_ to be told that he's good, that he's doing well – but he _wants_ it all the same.

But it's not enough, and part of him wants the courage to say so, to let her go and beg Thor for everything Thor has to give, but Thor might as well read minds. Steve lets go of her nipple, when Thor draws away with a sound he shouldn't enjoy so much, but he knows this whole thing wasn't needed, knows Thor _must_ have done this because he wanted to; they shared a shower back at base, then Thor didn't leave him unprepared. He was just as open as he needs to be the moment he walked in the door, just as clean as he needed to be by the time Thor joined him in the shower. But Thor excels at foreplay, needed or not.

Steve hears more than feels Thor get onto his feet behind him, and the hand Thor runs up Steve's spine and back is a calming gesture even as it signals what he's going to do. He's not expecting Thor's fingers instead of his cock, thick and wet and strong and searching deep inside of him, brushing over his prostate with a jolt that sends those sparks back up around the edges of his vision as he tries to gasp through the pleasure that bleeds forward and downward and upward, into his blood and his spine and his cock.

Thor doesn't even need to stretch to reach condoms, or the lube, and Steve hears him tear the condom open. He can't help the sound he makes knowing what's coming next, can't help the way his body sways back to get it faster. He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and resists the urge to scrape his teeth over Natasha's nipple – it's a courtesy in the same way that Thor tearing open, and rolling on, a condom for Steve as well is a courtesy. If he bites, teeth clicking together involuntarily the way they do sometimes, he won't bite _her_ (because, even if she likes it a lot sometimes, he had a great deal of her flesh in his mouth, and she likes her pain in very specific areas).

“Breathe,” she tells him in English, stroking her hand against his cheek, and Thor lines himself up.

He nods, and waits, and waits, and then the blunt, hot head of Thor's cock is pressing against him and he _can't_ breathe, he can't draw breath, his mouth falling open as his head drops. Thor is _huge_ , impossibly hot, and Steve's body fights against his cock even now, even now he's getting what his body feels like it's screaming for.

“Relax,” Natasha tells him, and he gasps, too quickly, as he looks up to search for her, her hands in his hair soothing just enough that Steve feels the moment Thor breaches him maybe a split-second before it punches all the air out of him with a noise he can't control, throwing his head back because it feels like his spine might break if he doesn't.

It seems that Thor goes on forever, the huge, thick drag of his cock opening Steve's body up the way he's been craving for the three weeks he's been away, and he moans again as Thor comes to rest inside him, so big and so long that Steve's not sure he can move, not sure he'll ever be able to sit down again.

“I'll be still,” Thor tells him, and Steve shakes his head.

“Fuck no,” he moans, his cock heavy and aching, his body open but not at ease, but Natasha evidently has more sense than he does right now, and she laughs softly.

“When you're ready,” she says. “When you _relax_.”

She kisses him again, holds his head in her hands and doesn't let him move – between them now, he doesn't feel like he could move anyway – and he moans into her mouth, desperate for more of it, for more of everything. 

“I’m already,” he gasps, the word a garbled mess against her mouth, “come on-”

“Hmm,” she answers, cutting him off with another kiss, and she scratches her fingernails over his skull, licks into his mouth and makes him wait, makes him breathe until he can feel that Thor isn't such a tight fit, that his muscles aren't protesting the intrusion so much as welcoming it instead.

“ _God!_ ” he says, the only thing he can force past his lips, and he feels Thor's mouth halfway up his spine, feels Thor's hands at his hips to brace him, feels the muscles in Thor's thighs shift where they're pressed against the back of Steve's own.

 _«Good,»_ Natasha tells him, and when Thor pulls back it turns his arms and legs to water, Steve's lungs seize under the enormous pressure of it, the way it draws him in, the way his body feels like it will collapse in on itself starting right in the center of his chest so that he might crumple all along his spine.

“A-Ah... _ah!_ ” and he can't breathe in, can't breathe out, can't do anything except hang suspended in the moment Thor holds him in, and he knows it's dragging him backwards with it, hears the distant creak of the couch frame and tries to remember how to make the world work enough to figure out what he should be doing.

 _«Breathe, little soldier,»_ Natasha croons, and his mouth works for it but nothing happens.

When Thor shifts back, the first proper thrust inward burns down the insides of his thighs, makes his pulse beat hard in his wrists and his temples and his cock and Steve can't do anything except hang his head and let himself be moved. Thor's hands tighten on his hips, and Natasha is closer somehow, and it takes too long to understand that it's because he's moved forward, his body's trying to get away from this even as it tries desperately to seek more. He makes noise with it, must be breathing or he couldn't make sounds like this, but it's not words, nothing close to words, just sound on breath he can't hold and can't get more of. Natasha murmurs softly and tilts his head upward as Thor draws back again, and Steve knows he isn't going to have to wait much longer. His skin burns with the underlying buzz of desperate longing, muscles close enough to vibrating as his whole body anticipates Thor's strength.

“I'll have you,” Thor tells him softly, “I'll have you at your own pace if you are but ready for it.” 

Steve feels his face contort, hears Natasha laugh softly and shakes his head.

“I am,” he gasps, “I _am_ , I'm so...” and Thor strokes his hand down Steve's back as a warning before his fingers grasp Steve's hips, bruising in their strength. 

Steve has time to take a breath to say _ow_ and doesn't get the chance to say it. Instead, Thor _finally_ quits messing around and gets to it hard and fast, driving into him so quickly he's on his third or fourth jolt forward when he manages to whine, head back as pleasure crackles under his skin.

This is the beginning, taking the searing, blinding edge off something Steve's been balancing on for far too long, and there'll be time for slow later, time for everything later.

“Har-der,” he says, “Th-or-”

“Do I not satisfy you?” Thor asks, his voice a growl that seems to come from everywhere, heat and light arcing through Steve's whole body like this, and Steve tries to laugh, a fractured, broken thing that comes out a cough and then a gasping wrench of muscle as he tries to take in air. 

Satisfy is the wrong word – eradicate everything except the here and now might be more accurate a description - but whatever it is Thor's doing, it's not fast enough. Steve's brain can work out how fast Thor's going – does it as soon as he tries to remember not to – but it doesn't matter how he quantifies it, it's still not nearly enough. 

“More,” Steve answers, automatically, his body's needs overriding his mouth – and it happens sometimes with things like _food_ and things like _quiet_ ; simple enough instructions that he doesn't need to say much to get the meaning across.

“Damn,” Sam mutters, somewhere over to Steve's right, and he can't open his eyes and look, can't make his body work enough to get what he wants. 

Every muscle strains for it, drawing him tight so that he feels fit to snap, and it's still not far enough, feel like his whole body is reaching for it, searching for it, and coming up _just_ shy. Whatever his instructions are, it doesn't seem to be getting through to Thor.

“That all,” Steve gasps, “you got?”

A distant part of him knows that Thor holds back because he wants to and not because he doesn't understand, but Steve is starting to feel like he's jagged at the edges, feels like Thor isn't close enough or fast enough or deep enough, feels like he's going to come to pieces unless somebody holds him together and feels like the best way to do it would be to try and break him apart. Natasha's fingers are cool and slender when she strokes damp hair out of Steve's face, and her lips are soft when she kisses him. He pours himself into it, tries to pull himself forward and finds himself stretched out when Thor won't let him move, and he wants to reach up and pull her down but he can't make himself let go of the back of the couch. She kisses like she's in full control and he knows he's kissing like he can't remember which way is up. But she's always been good at guiding him, always been good at giving what he needs and she doesn't object when his mouth goes slack, doesn't stop when he gasps instead of kisses, doesn't do anything except smooth her hands over his skull when he can't hold back the whine.

He has passed his breaking point, passed it maybe a week ago but yesterday he knew about today and got his hopes up and he's so far beyond where he should be, so far into _I-needed-this-last-week_ territory that he needed this last _century_ and Thor's good and kind and his skin is hot and his muscles are firm and his grip is strong but the push and drag of his cock isn't scratching the itch that's buzzing under Steve's skin so hard it feels like it's in his bones.

He's aware of his knuckles hurting and his stomach hurting and his face hurting, aware that his head feels like it's caught in a vise, and his throat is sore somehow, his lungs burning somehow and it's only when Natasha speaks in Russian again, says _«Relax, little one,»_ that he feels himself reaching the end of his tether.

He hurts because he's tense, because his face is screwed up and his body is straining and she tits his head up to see and suddenly it all makes sense.

“Oh, you're doing this on purpose,” he breathes, and she smiles, red lips and white teeth, and her tongue in his mouth when she kisses him is too much and not enough, he can't move his head when she's holding onto it.

He's fraying, his skin prickling and his arms shaking and he needs more than this, needs more than he's being given.

“How fare you?” Thor asks, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut as Natasha draws away to let him answer, shakes his head and he'd drop it to the back of the couch, press his head there to stop the ache if she'd only let go.

“For the love...” he whispers, “either...do it or...let somebody else-”

And Thor doesn't even warn him, doesn't even say he's heard or he agrees, doesn't even move any differently, except that suddenly it feels like Thor's trying to shatter him into tiny little pieces (part of Steve's brain hilariously starts to wonder if he'll be small enough to get lost between the cushions on the couch) and Steve feels each thrust like a blow, shuts his eyes and can't feel a thing except Natasha's hands and Thor's hands and his thighs and his cock. 

He can't breathe, can't move, Steve can't do anything except hold onto the couch and Natasha takes pity, presses her body close, holds his head to her breast and soothes while he gasps open-mouthed against her skin.

“Ye-ah,” Steve gasps, every thrust jarring his whole body, breaking his words, and he feels the flush like sunburn, hot across his shoulders and in his face and even his ears. “Oh-h ye-ah-”

He's not going to last, that's not the objective – if it's fast now there can be more later but _this_ , this is so much better, like sparks and _electricity_ , of _course_ it is, and he moans against Natasha, skin and lace and it unfurls in his torso and coils up in his thighs and he needs this, needs a hand on himself but he can't let go.

He's saying something, something over and over but he doesn't know what it is, can't make it out, and Natasha presses her lips to his hair and holds him tight and he'll come undone soon, just needs to ride it out a little longer, can feel himself cresting the wave if he can just hold on.

~

Sam stares at them, forgets each time what this is like to watch, to know his turn comes later. Sam doesn't even care _how much_ later his turn comes. 

They're all beautiful, all three of them, they look good together in a way Sam could watch for hours. Thor’s all muscle and golden skin and strength, power. Natasha is slender, petite, all curves and soft skin and he knows she's more than this, knows her slender fingers in Steve's hair are deceptive, knows there's nobody ordinary who could hold Steve like this, against his own strength and Thor's combined. 

Steve's whole body is taut with the need to come, Sam can see it in his expression when he looks, the side of Steve's face pressed tight to Natasha, his mouth open, his eyes shut tight. Thor is strong and moves hard and fast and Natasha is strong and stands firm - kneels firm. Sam wets his lips and tries not to think about how hard his own cock is in Clint’s fist, how opened up Steve must be from Thor and how good Steve will feel, how much better it will be for both of them when Steve can think beyond his need to come. Sam knows his turn will come, it's been too long for Steve to be satisfied from just (just!) this. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, over and over as though it's a tether he can't let go of, an anchor he's already dragging.

Steve is muscle and skin in a way Thor can't be, pale in a way Natasha is not, and his skin is flushed red over his shoulders and up his neck. If Sam didn't know better he'd worry, he'd be concerned at just how hard Steve's body is working – for him to be this red, his tendons to be this prominent, Sam would never guess he's a supersoldier. But Sam knows it's only that this means Steve can take it, and that he’ll be able to get his hands on Steve soon.

“Oh, oh,” Steve says, and his fingers are white-knuckled on the back of the couch, every thrust jarring him and Natasha, too, rocking the whole couch. “Oh, yeah...”

Thor lifts one foot to the cushions by Steve's right thigh, gets a better angle, and Steve keens at him, long and broken. Natasha holds his head tighter. She says something in Russian and Steve moans pitifully, not a sob – not yet – as his whole body shudders.

When Thor turns his head, Sam looks automatically and almost startles to find that Thor is looking at _him_ , sweat beading at his hairline and something knowing glittering in his eyes.

The nod Thor gives, in Steve's direction though he doesn't slow his pace at all, is clear enough, and Sam wants nothing more than to comply. He knows what it means, suspects why Thor offers it to him, but he still hesitates, unwilling to interfere in something so beautifully well-crafted, unwilling to break whatever spell this is – and it's utterly captivating, watching Steve become so oblivious to the world in favor of his own pleasure. 

He must be rocking back into Thor's thrusts as well as he's able to like that, must be moving somehow, because the instant Sam leans toward him and closes his hand around Steve's cock, Steve freezes, his breaths stop, his body moved only by Thor.

Steve's cock is hot in Sam's hand, as hard as it can be and just as gorgeous as the rest of him – not too long and not too thick and curving just slightly towards his stomach in a beautiful arc that makes Sam's mouth water. Sam strokes once, twice, and then Steve twists hard enough that Natasha almost has to grapple for him, a ripple moving up his spine as a long, low rasp of a groan forces its way out of him, cock jumping in Sam's hand.

There's one hell of a lot of power in that, in being part of making Steve come so hard it takes his breath away. It's enough to give Sam a rush, and Sam knows his part to play was small this time, knows that all the work Thor and Natasha have done has been what's really brought him this far, but Steve rides it out – it lasts a while and Thor doesn't stop, neither does Sam, until Steve _finally_ pries his right hand off the back of the couch and snatches at Sam's wrist with another short, breathless sound, tugging his hand away. 

“Stop,” he gasps, “stop,” and Thor slows and slows until he's pressed to Steve's back, inside him but still, stroking soothing hands up the sides of Steve's torso while Steve shakes and moans into the next kiss Natasha lifts his head to give him.

Some of the tension has bled out of him, his body no longer stretched tight. It's enough to take the edge off, Sam knows, but it's not enough to ease the pain of waiting so long, or to stop the need for more. Which makes it just as well that they're all here for that exact purpose.

~

Clint really likes this. He’s liked it from the first time Nat suggested they ought to try and strike up a physical relationship with Steve and, okay, he was skeptical at the time. Steve was a wound-tight, jittery, terrified mess back in ‘12, and it was only the fact that he’d nearly thrown himself at Clint for a hug one time that Clint believed Nat instead of thinking she was just trying to pull another one over on him (he’s gullible because he loves her, sue him). Steve’s come a long way from that, and there’s a ridiculous sense of pride Clint finds himself tamping down every time Steve does something like this.

Currently, Steve’s laughing breathlessly, pressing the side of his face into the side of Thor’s where Thor’s pulled him upright. He’s not coordinated enough for a proper over-the-shoulder-kiss, but his mouth is open and he’s trying. Thor’s huge hands are all over him, halfway support and halfway just groping, and Steve melts under his hands (who wouldn’t, come on).

And like, Clint can appreciate a pretty person, he’s in love with Nat for God’s sake. But he’s also hecka pansexual (panhecksual, ha) and everybody in the room is very _very_ pretty. Steve’s whole body, freckles and full-body flush and all, stretches up and back when he’s on his knees like this, and Thor strokes him from neck to thigh and back, nice and slow. Steve’s not even near being soft yet, and his cock juts up from his wiry pubic hair looking about as pleased to be where it is as ever. Clint really wants to get on him, actually - wouldn’t mind marking up all that skin as long as nobody’s called dibs on it.

He glances at Barnes, and Barnes just flicks his gaze toward Clint for a second before he goes back to watching. The Winter Soldier was scary as fuck, but Bucky Barnes watches his boyfriend getting railed with all the warmth and affection of a groom on his wedding day, eyes soft, smile soft. He huffs a laugh when Steve says,

“Oof,” still coming down from what Thor just dished out, and Clint looks back at Steve.

“A’right,” Steve breathes, lifting his hands to put them over Thor’s. “Okay, who’s next?”

“Can I call it?” Nat says, looking around to read the room. 

Sam and Clint glance at her, and then Sam looks at Steve. Steve brightens like a fucking lightbulb. 

“I wanna get spitroasted at some point,” he says, all casual like, as you do, “so figure _that_ out amongst yourselves.”

Thor laughs, and Sam laughs, and Clint just looks at Nat - she owns a strap-on harness, and, ace herself, she likes oral over penetration as a receiver if she likes anything at all. As a giver though….

“You got the warbler?” Clint asks.

“Oh God,” Steve chuckles, slapping his hands over his face - no prizes for guessing who does the warbling when that particular sex toy is employed. 

“Or you wanna DP instead?” Clint says. 

Steve busts out laughing. 

It makes his stomach tense and his cock jump and Clint really wasn’t kidding - he remembers the days when Steve didn’t laugh at all, and naked Steve laughing is always fun to look at.

“I could,” he says, and then looks back over his shoulder at Thor. “After you, I could probably take an arm.”

“Shotgun,” Barnes says, low and slow, and they all look at him to find him wiggling his metal fingers. 

Steve busts out laughing again.

Well then.

“Whaddya say, Nat, got your harness?” Steve asks, looking at Nat, and Clint snorts because he’d never have called this when Steve first got out of the ice. 

Captain America asking the Black Widow if she’s putting on the dildo he likes. 

“Hmm, that an order?” she says, but she gives him a long, lingering kiss and gets up. 

Steve gets chance to smile before Sam starts on his dick again - just loose fingers, nice and slow. Steve makes a funny kind of breathless laugh and flaps a hand around as he winces. 

_“Sam,_ he says, like _come on, man,_ but Sam doesn’t stop and Steve probably doesn’t really want him to.

“Are you staying here or moving elsewhere?” Thor asks, and Steve shakes his head. 

“I dunno,” he says, and then looks at Clint. “Watcha think?”

“Genuinely wanna DP you one day,” he says. “You on top of me, Nat in behind you maybe? Or the other way, I know you like riding her.”

“Who wouldn’t like riding her?” Steve mutters, face a fair shade of red, but he’s still smiling. “Anybody?”

Barnes is excluded from this conversation - he doesn’t like to ride. But nobody else puts up a hand either.

“Didn’t think so,” Steve mutters. 

“Seriously,” Clint says. “Could go either way - I’m already wearing a plug.”

“May I make a suggestion,” Nat says, getting the straps up her legs, and Steve looks at her with hearts in his eyes as she adjusts the warbler. 

Thick black-strap harness around her hips, beautiful thick, curved blue silicone cock in tie-dye design jutting out from it - the thing is, it’s textured along the top, with a row of nubs which means it feels best when he’s on his back, and she’s got a remote for it so it’ll vibrate at the tip, because she bought it for his birthday one year and knows him very well. The vibrating isn’t for today though, not when Steve wants a chance with everyone.

“You get on your back and do as you’re told?” she says.

Steve laughs, and Clint makes a sad little noise in the hopes that she’ll take pity and maybe ask him to join in.

 _“You_ can realtalk with _Wilson_ about which end of the spit you get to be,” she says, and Steve groans softly at the implication.

That’s not so bad, actually, Clint can totally handle being third if watching Steve get pegged within an inch of his life is second.

“Heads or tails?” Sam asks, and Clint snorts.

Steve unfolds his limbs from the couch and stands up, looking weirdly unsteady for a supersoldier (still, Thor’s dick will do that), and he waves a hand in the direction of the back of the couch until he finds it to hold onto.

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, and Nat sways her shoulders a little.

“Where do you wanna be?” she asks.

And she’s turning up the Widow because she can, because she’s safe.

That’s the thing about it - they all know what she’s like when she’s seducing a mark, how she turns up the coy-but-sexy and uses lowered lashes and a her smoky voice. None of them find it attractive when she does it in the field - it’s like watching Barnes work his knives….

Okay, no wait, scratch that - it _is_ sexy, but in the _same way_ as Barnes working his knives. It’s not sexy because it’s Sexy TM but because it’s competent, because she’s the best. It’s Barnes putting a bullet through someone’s eye at three kilometers, it’s ricocheting the shield off six different surfaces and having it find home in Steve’s grip, it’s Sam’s wings retracting long enough for him to duck under a viaduct and come up the other side whooping, it’s stormbreaker singing through the air and into Thor’s - or Steve’s - hand. 

It’s the finesse of doing a job _perfectly_. When they’re out in the field, at least.

But when they can enjoy it, when they’re behind closed doors and nobody’s fooled but everybody’s attracted, they know she’s lowering her voice and fluttering her lashes and wearing a push-up bra, they know she’s doing it on purpose, but she’s gorgeous, and she’s strong, and it is sexy, that’s the point. And Steve falls head over heels for all of them every time they so much as look at him - he thinks every person in the room is beautiful and forgets they think the same in return, which…okay, it’s a little sad. 

But that “who, me!?” expression is incredibly cute on him every time.

“Get comfortable,” Nat tells him, her voice like melted chocolate, and Steve gives her a knowing smirk - he knows she’s playing him, but that’s the point.

It’s like when Steve walks into the lounge and picks up Stormbreaker and says, “oh this?” with a barely-contained smirk - of _course_ they’re doing it to impress. Because they _can,_ and because it _is impressive._

Steve does as he’s told, and gives Clint a _look_ as he sinks onto the floor. He’s weirdly graceful for a naked dude getting comfy on bedding on the ground, but then that’s the same as everything he does. He makes himself small to start, crumpling down to the ground like he’s been shrunken into a ball, and then stretches out again, legs out in front of him, leaning back on one hand, and Clint nudges Sam with an elbow.

“You want?” he says quietly, nodding down at Sam’s boxers again, and Sam flashes him a grin.

“Sure, man,” he says, and returns the favor. 

They’ll both have to be careful - one hand in each others’ boxers means twice as likely for their chance to be over before they got it. Steve, Barnes, and Thor could all come as many times as they pleased, Nat could too if she wanted to (not that she usually does). But Clint and Sam? Regular dudes, thanks, with regular refractory periods. 

Nat stalks around where Steve’s lying on the floor and looks down at him with her shoulders back and her feet set apart. 

“Come on,” she says, lifting her head a little. “Spread ‘em.”

Steve wets his lips and hesitates, distracted by her - he’s got a thing for women in charge - then he lets his legs fall open, gives her somewhere to be as she sinks down there with him. Thor, because Thor’s got a better handle on this than either Clint or Sam, tosses a condom and lube to her and then, while she’s rolling the condom onto the warbler up so she can slick it up, Steve holds a hand out to Thor for a condom, too.

“What would we do without you?” he says, grinning at Thor as he rolls it on, and Thor moves from where he’s standing and comes to settle on the floor next to him with a grin of his own. 

“Certainly not ‘sit still,’ ” he answers, “but don’t worry - I’m here for that, aren’t I?”

Steve reaches out for him as he does, hand open, fingers stretched - it’s not a casual movement, it’s an obvious signal for closeness, and Thor leans over him in answer, kisses him softly. Steve sighs into his mouth, hand on Thor’s neck, and his other hand winds into the bedding as Natasha pushes a couple of fingers into Steve and twists them.

“Ngghh,” Steve hums without breaking the kiss, and he spreads his legs wider, lets go of the bedclothes to tug at his cock.

Natasha, because she knows him very well and he knows how to do as she tells him, doesn’t have to do anything except lift his hand out of the way to tell him no - he lets go immediately and grabs the bedding again. 

“Come on, man, sit back, huh?” Sam says. “Let’s get a look at him.”

Thor hums a laugh and then breaks the kiss, and leans away again as she lines up and pushes in, so that they can see Steve’s face.

Steve _likes_ the warbler - it’s a guaranteed penetrative orgasm for him, and he shows why immediately.

“Oh-oh, _God_ ,” he spits, eyes squeezing shut as his hips stutter upward - he goes from _come to papa_ to _how do I get off this thing_ in a split-second, and it’s as hot as it is _hilarious._

Nat puts one hand on his hip and hitches the other up under his knee to keep his legs spread, and she waits until he bites his lip and forces his hips back down to move any more. He does it, it just takes a few seconds, especially because his _how do I get off this thing_ face is actually just _SteveRogers.exe has encountered a problem and is about lose cognitive function_. When she pulls out, she does it slow because she knows how well that works for a guy like Steve, and they don’t need to see his ass to know when each nub and ridge passes his rim ‘cause he jerks with every one-

“Ah, ah-ah, _hu_ -ah,” shivering like he’s cold, and his other hand drops to the bedding too.

He arches his back but keeps his hips down this time - fast learner, good at giving orders, good at following them too, depending on what’s going on - and she smiles, glances up at Clint, who bobs his eyebrows. Sam’s hand is moving a little faster and so Clint does the same, but they still have to watch it - sympathetic jerking off has put an end to their party early before. 

“Brace,” she says to Steve, and he makes a soft little noise that might be _oh no_ if it weren’t going to be a hundred percent _yes-please_ does. His hands go so tight the knuckles pale and the tendons show, he shoves his hips down so that his stomach is a sweet slope of hard muscle and wiry hair that leads to his still-very-hard dick, which sways enticingly, and his chest rises and falls rapidly, his nipples pink and tight. Clint would like to suck on them right about now, Steve likes _that_ a lot, too.

Thor puts a big, hot palm on Steve’s stomach, which goes concave instantly, and Steve draws a shuddery breath.

“Hm,” Nat says, and then shoves her hips forward, and starts going at it. 

She’s got a shit-ton of core strength _anyway_ \- try scaling buildings and killing men with your thighs without it - but since the first time she ever suggested this, since the first time she mentioned it to Clint _(years_ before the Avengers were formed), and probably before, she’s been able to do this for anyone who wants it. She can go for hours with a harness and a silicone dick, sometimes in ways Clint has _never_ experienced from a someone with a flesh and blood dick. Steve starts to writhe about four thrusts in, because that’s how long it takes his body to start working again after the immediate tension of the first one. He doesn’t hold back on the noise either, which is always a plus. He used to, used to be tight-lipped and stoic about it, but now he throws his head back, sweaty strands of hair hanging loose, and grips the bedclothes as he takes what she’s dishing out.

“Ah!” nice and loud. “Ahn, _haaah_ -”

Thor’s big palm slides down just a little and wraps around Steve’s dick, and Steve gasps such a huge lungful it sounds like he’s been dunked in ice-water. He does well with it, as Thor starts to pump in time with Nat’s thrusts - his hands grip the bedclothes tighter and his shoulders wiggle, left-right-left-right, and then he takes another of those huge gasps and says,

“Uughhh,” like he did the last time he got shot, in Myanmar.

The thing is, the place smells of sex, and it sounds like sex - there’s musk and sweat and salt in the air, and the slick, wet noise of thrust after thrust as an undercurrent to the mostly-silent way everyone else is conducting themselves. Steve’s the loudest thing in here over the _schlick-shlick_ of the warbler, and they call it the warbler because that’s the only way to describe the breathless quavering it makes Steve’s voice do. It’s a bit like you’d sound sitting in a shopping cart if you were trying to yodel while someone pushed it over a cattle grid.

Or like, a wheelbarrow on a cobbled street or something.

“Still in there?” Nat asks, and she does something funny with her fingers under his balls that’s probably just pushing his prostate against the warbler from the outside, but his noises go high and reedy and repetitive, like a broken record player even though it’s music to Clint’s ears, Sam’s hand speeds up on his cock and Clint gives him a squeeze in return - it brings Sam’s attention back a little, makes it a little bit easier to draw this out.

“Naaaa-” Steve answers, halfway through her name before his lungs refuse to let him finish it.

Clint bites back a smile as Steve’s hands come up - he lets go of the bedding and reaches down. Thor stops him, grabbing at both his hands and then gathering Steve’s wrists together in just one of his own. Sam doesn’t bite anything back, and chuckles instead - Steve doesn’t have to be far gone to babble, but his ability to make complete words leaves about the time Thor shoves Steve’s hands up against his own chest, and maneuvers himself so that he can get Steve’s dick in his mouth and start bobbing his head. 

Sam’s hand moves faster, his fingers tightening just for a second - maybe involuntarily - 

“Huah _fuck!_ ” Steve gasps, the curse breaking halfway through, and then his body kind of jacknifes upward, except that Thor’s hand is still in the middle of Steve’s chest, and his head and other hand are pinning his pelvis, with Nat between his legs, so he more sort of hunches up around Thor and Nat like the edges of a leaf weighted down by a stone.

Steve’s the kind of guy who puts so much effort into every punch that _he_ makes a ton of noise too - it’s one of the things Clint and Nat had to train out of him for stealth work, although he still does it if he’s not concentrating hard enough, like in the gym or in a fight. “Uhn. Haah.” Every fricken punch. Also, Steve has been shot in a lot of different places, and suffered a lot of different injuries aside from that. Point is, Steve, with the warbler in him, makes a couple of desperate, guttural noises that don’t really sound like _anything Clint can think of_ \- not working out and lifting weights, not taking a bullet, not punching some dude in the face - no. The warbler is an example of perfect compatibility (in that it’s textured like one of those nubbly sensory balls but it operates like a prostate-seeking missile, at least when Nat’s in charge of it), as evidenced by the very reaction that gave it its unofficial title.

Clint gets the feeling that if Steve were a wolf he’d be howling at the moon by now. As it stands, he isn’t a wolf - so he shakes his head and pulls against Thor’s hands but it’s not really any use. Nat’s doing the equivalent of treating Steve’s prostate like a punch ball with a line of about seventeen teeny tiny fists in a row with every stroke in and out, and Steve loses it pretty quickly at the best of times, let alone with the Vacuum Cleaner of Asgard on his dick. 

Sam lets go of Clint’s dick, and Clint looks at him just for a moment - Sam is very obviously trying to rein it in and so he lets go, too.

 _“Nagh,”_ Steve says, but if he was trying to say no then he doesn’t mean it, and then he _whines_ , and then he goes completely silent while he’s all curled up against the two of them.

The slick, wet sound of Nat fucking into him with the warbler is all there is for three, four strokes, and then it’s met a moment or two later by a rasping sound, slow and quiet like a creaking door, until Clint realizes that it’s Steve, mouth open, lungs straining. He gets louder, and harsher, until he’s groaning loud and rough, his face and chest stained red like a sunburn, his hands pulling constantly at Thor’s grip hard enough to turn almost all of the skin on his hands white. He can’t bring his legs up because Nat’s between them and Thor’s holding his pelvis down, can’t sit up because Thor’s pushing him back, and then he goes silent again and flops back down onto the bedding.

 _“Aaaaagh,”_ he says, loud and grating, chest heaving - Clint really likes Steve’s pecs and they’re fun to watch when they’re sweaty and his nipples are bright, and Steve’s wearing a condom but it wouldn’t matter even if he weren’t - Thor swallows, he always does, because that way he can keep going. As it is, he doesn’t stop now either - Clint’s aware the dude can drain a juice box in three seconds flat, in one go, and it’s hot as fuck. That’s the thing about being pansexual in a room full of very pretty people - wherever he is, he’s happy to be there, but wherever he isn’t, he wishes he was.

Steve’s legs twitch inward as Nat keeps going, his upper body almost rocking with the pulsing tension of the muscles in his abdomen, and the strain of his expression has melted into helpless release, the relief of pleasure erasing the lines from his face, brows turned up at the center, lashes sweeping low as his mouth falls open.

“Ahn, ah, oh, God, ” he breathes, fingers flexing though he can’t get his wrists out of Thor’s grip.

He pants as he comes down, turns his head a little, and then winces.

“Mh,” he says, barely a sound at all, and then turns his head back as he hisses through his teeth.

Thor slows, and so does Nat, just a little. She doesn’t stop - Steve hasn’t figured out the game yet - but he’ll get it.

Bodies are funny things. A lot of bodies really like orgasms, and a lot of the bodies that really like orgasms will do an awful lot to get one. Pull against restraints, hold a stress position, even endure actual pain so long as it’s less than the good stuff (and sometimes it doesn’t even have to be less), all of it for that rush of pleasure right there at the end. But the thing about bodies that like orgasms is, a lot of those bodies flip pretty quickly from climbing that peak to struggling under the intensity.

Steve’s not a porn star, and Clint has watched plenty of videos. People with a clitoris tend to be able to have quite a few orgasms in a row, in Clint’s experience, although sensitivity can put a stop to that soon enough. Most people with dicks that Clint knows, though? Yeah, most of them can’t do that. Most of them have _tried_ , but the factor that makes it all so difficult is that wires cross and pain and pleasure fire off at the same time and what you wind up with is a dick that hurts so much it could come again if you could only keep on hurting it good enough, but you can’t, because your body won’t let you. It bows out, it skitters away - it’s too much, and your body won’t let you do it to yourself. Mostly (there are, as always, exceptions). 

“God, _god!”_ Steve says, gulping the words down because he can’t regulate what his lungs are doing.

Which is why it helps to have someone else hurting your dick good enough to get it to come again. Bypasses all that pesky self-preservation.

“Oh!” he says, although its not nearly as well-formed a word as that, and Thor just keeps on bobbing his head and holding Steve down.

It’s funny to see him like this, watching him try and get his hands free and fail. Watching Steve fail at being the strongest person in a room is a rare occurrence - Bruce or Thor have to be around, and one of the two of them has to be pretty grumpy about it.

“Hagghhh _ssstop!”_ he says, and then breathes funny for two or three seconds, and then he makes a little whining noise and jacknifes up again as far as he can get with two people holding him down.

Nat’s head turns and Clint looks as well, but Barnes leans against the wall on the other side of the room, arms folded over his chest and no concern in his features, and shakes his head. Steve’s got a way to tap out, and that isn’t it, but it’s always worth checking when the Winter Soldier’s your supervisor.

It won’t take him long at this rate, and Clint’s aware they’ll probably stop pushing him after the second one. They don’t have to, of course, they can wring a fair few outta Steve before they have to stop, but it takes a toll on him that would cut the afternoon short - or, at least, would change how he enjoys it. Sometimes he wants to lie there inert and take what he’s given but, today, he wants take everybody and actively participate, so why not let him?

Clint watches him. They have to be careful with each other, sometimes kid gloves are needed - hold down a bunch of superhumans with difficult pasts and you sometimes have a recipe for disaster. There is at least one occasion that Clint can think of for all of them when they’ve had to half proceedings for a flashback or an episode. But Steve doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of ‘breathing is difficult’ or ‘stop trying to pin me to the floor.’ In fact, he seems to be showing signs of the various pieces of his body trying to leave to be their own independent things - Steve shakes like he’s freezing, his fingers curling and uncurling with the captive desperation of someone who needs to hang onto something for dear life but doesn’t have anything to hang on for dear life _to_.

Nat doesn’t cut him any slack, either - you can’t in this situation. It hurts, kinda - they can see that in Steve’s expression - but it hurts in a way that your body wants more of (Clint is definitely going to ask Nat and Thor for some of what Steve’s getting so he can have it himself soon) and Steve struggles against Thor’s grip about as much as he can. Although…can is not the right word really, he’s not doing it deliberately. It’s as involuntary as it is futile. They all know he’ll never break Thor’s hold - not like this. He and Thor spar, and he and Thor fuck, but if they’re fighting to win, Steve will lose every time. (It’s one of the reasons he likes Thor so much. One of many, obviously.)

Nat does something else, and Clint isn’t really sure what it is, except that then Steve goes bowstring-taut, makes a series of three of the same garbled cries, each louder and higher than the last, and then he sort of…comes up off the bedding where he can, knees cinching tight around Natasha, shoulders and head coming up towards where Thor holds his hands against his chest. His hands themselves are open, the fingers fixed in claws, and a shudder goes through him that makes every tendon stand out, and then his head goes back. His shoulders are still up, so his head’s still a couple of inches off the ground, and all the sweaty hair that usually hangs over his forehead flops back instead. Clint would quite like to get his fingers in it.

Steve, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, skin aflame with a flush that goes all the way down, (Clint loves that they know that, that they get to see it. He used to be one of those people who wondered if it would, and now he’s one of those people who _knows_ ) spends another few silent seconds completely frozen while Nat and Thor keep going, and then takes a huge breath, kicks out with one leg, and makes a noise like a dry sob.

That’s when Thor and Nat both let up at once, and Steve collapses back into the bedding like a sack of potatoes. 

Clint knows firsthand that it’s a beautiful thing getting fucked by people who know you backwards. They eat together and train together and fuck together, and it means that everybody has each others’ six in a fight, food and talk and laughter are shared in equal measure, and love languages consist of everything from ‘here’s a plant I thought you’d like on your office desk’ to ‘we know when to stop fucking your ass if you want to remember your name,’ and it’s glorious. It’s hard work being what they are - vigilantes, for the most part, although the majority of people are grateful for their presence the majority of the time - and it wears you down, but coming home to a hug from like five or six different people, all of whom know exactly what you’re going through? Yeah, Clint knows how lucky he is, how lucky they all are.

Steve seems particularly lucky at this point.

“God, oh my God,” he breathes, chest heaving, and Thor finally lets go of his hands. “Oh my _God_...”

Nat’s still got the warbler inside of him but she’s stopped moving, and Thor lets go of Steve’s cock with a long, slow suck as he pulls off. Steve’s limbs jerk a little as he does, but the first thing Steve and his newly-freed hands do is grab for Thor’s head to pull him up for a kiss. Ish. More like his hands flop about for Thor and Thor gets what Steve’s aiming for, but still, he gets his kiss all the same. 

When they all sit back from one another, Steve shakes his head a little and squeezes his eyes shut, presumably to get the sweat out of them. And then he unwinds a little - Clint watches him. He puts his shoulders back and settles into the bedding, getting rid of the tension that had him locked up half a minute ago.

There’s a couple more seconds where Steve looks up at Thor and Nat, and then he says,

“Whoo,” and smiles, wetting his lip a moment later.

Then, because it’s Steve, he turns his head to look, semi-upside down, at Clint and Sam.

“Hey,” he says, a blinding smile accompanying the greeting. “Who’s next?” 

Sam looks at Clint, and so Clint looks at Sam.

They both look down, at Steve lying splayed out naked on the bedclothes, with a semi (still), and Thor sitting next to him like they’re at a picnic, with Nat synthetic-balls-deep in his ass. 

Steve looks like when Lucky’s happy that the heating’s on. Which…is a weird image. But still, Clint remembers when Steve didn’t used to look happy, when the most they got out of Steve was the corner of his mouth pilling up, or a a wry twist to his lips that was more irritation and frustration than amusement.

Right now he looks like his tail would be wagging if he had one. 

Thor puts out a hand and strokes his hand down Steve’s torso and back. Steve doesn’t react to it, he just lies there enjoying it - it is so weird how this is a normal Tuesday for them. 

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “Are you done with him?”

Thor laughs. 

“I do rather dominate the activities if you permit me, don’t I?” he says, moving back to give them room, pushing himself onto his feet to go and sit back on the couch. “Give me an inch?”

Steve makes a funny little noise and says,

 _“How_ many inches? _Whom?”_

Which is about when Clint has a brainwave.

“Hey!” he says, and everybody on the floor looks at him. “If I take his dick, you can get his mouth,” and looks at Sam to see what Sam thinks.

Sam blinks at him for a second and then laughs, and Steve looks like Christmas has come early. 

“That works,” he says, and then he crunches up to look down his own body at Nat. “You don’t even gotta move, right? Help me out with that spitroast?” 

She raises an eyebrow at him in response but Clint can see she’s amused, and Steve looks back at them with enough of a smile that it’s evident he can see it too.

“Nice,” Clint says. “Who’s got condoms?” 

Thor produces three, presumably from - who cares? Any one of the many places they’ve sequestered lube and condoms in - and throws them at Steve, on whose stomach they land, while Clint and Sam get up off the couch.

“Right,” Steve says, and settles himself down again, wriggling a little to situate himself better in the bedding as he opens the first condom. “I’m breathin’ too easy. Sam, come solve that for me.”

“Hold on,” Barnes says, and they all look at him to find that he’s walking over to them with a bottle of water in his hands. 

Steve’s expression clears, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows and takes the bottle. He takes a long, long draught of it, and then hands it back with a nod of thanks. Barnes doesn’t lean down for a kiss, not yet, turning to go back to his vantage point, and Clint can see the flicker of disappointment in Steve’s eyes. But it’s not neglect - it’s deliberate, and all in good fun. Barnes is making him wait. 

“C’mere,” Steve says to the two of them a moment later, stretching his hands out as he and Sam get up from the couch. 

Clint tugs his shorts down, and kicks them aside somewhere, and then goes around Steve and plants his feet either side of his hips to kneel down astride him with his back to Nat - she’ll sort out the plug for him in a second. He starts by just kneeling down and letting himself be on top of Steve, and one of Steve’s hands slides up his leg as soon as he’s settled in the cradle of Steve’s hips.

“Hi,” Steve says, slow and confident, thumb rubbing the inside of Clint’s thigh as he holds out the open condom.

“You’re pretty cute when you know what you want,” Clint tells him, passing it back to Nat. 

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose and then his eyes flutter closed for a moment - that’ll be Nat swapping his condom for the fresh one. After that, Clint picks the next condom off Steve’s stomach and opens it to roll it on. 

Steve’s other arm is over his head, and he waits for Sam to kneel down with one knee either side of his head, waits for Sam to get his cock out of his shorts, before reaching back to get his fingers around Sam’s thigh. Sam leans forward to grab the remaining condom, and then the three of them are sheathed up and ready to go.

Clint looks back over his shoulder at Nat, and she’s getting busy with lube so clearly she knows what she’s doing.

“Go slow,” she says, and he kneels up so she can get at the plug. 

It doesn’t come out so easy but that’s because he’s been wearing it for a while, and breathes through the discomfort before nabbing a kiss over his shoulder when he thinks she’s done, except he gets two of her fingers a second later and has to plant his hand on Steve’s stomach with the rush it brings.

“Mh,” he says to Nat, God, Steve’s abs are like a fuckin’ rock. “Warn a guy huh?”

“You got your warning,” she says. 

There’s a difference in all of them - of course there is. Every one of their bodies is different, they all have differences in their musculature that belies the way they work, the way they live. Barnes, and the corded back muscles and long forearms that support his arm and mark him as a fighter, Nat, and the thick thighs and deceptively narrow arms that belie her incredible talent at hand-to hand, Steve, and the broad chest and rounded biceps that come from carrying a heavy disc to throw as a weapon, Sam, whose upper body is thick and strong from the wing pack and the shield, Thor, who’s….

Uh. Well Thor’s Asgardian and made from more muscle than humans probably even have and Clint is _very_ much not complaining about that look. 

But being in the middle is pretty awesome.

“Aah,” Steve says, tongue out as he tips his head back, because he likes sucking dick and Sam is-

Clint can’t really think of anything he _doesn’t_ like. 

~

Sam does his best, at times like this, not to think about how he got here, what road led them to this point. It has been a very difficult road, and the world has changed for all of them, but he honestly would never have called - back in DC, back in ‘14 - that they would end up like _this_.

“You good?” He says quietly, and Steve, upside down from this point of view, tongue still out, grins.

“Ah-hah,” he says, raising one eyebrow because he happens to be that kind of guy. 

“Aright,” Sam says, more to himself than to Steve, and angles his cock down so he can guide it….basically down Steve’s throat - there’s nothing like getting this from a guy who can hold his breath for seven minutes. “Show me,” he says, and Steve raises a hand and shows him an o-k symbol in case he needs to quit.

Sam can tell when Clint actually gets on him because, first of all, Clint says,

“Oh,” in a way that suggests he maybe didn’t go as slow as he should have done but doesn’t care at all, but mostly because Steve goes rigid immediately, hands lifting for a moment, fingers splayed, and he takes a huge breath in through his nose - lucky that Sam wasn’t further down his throat. 

Sam draws back to let him breathe,

“Hngah,” Steve says, but then brings his arm up and back again to fit his fingers back around the curve of Sam’s thigh. “It’s fine.”

He’s blinking hard, though, and he lifts his head to look at Clint. Clint is biting his lip and looking down, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that some of the hands on Clint aren’t his own. One of Steve’s is there, that’s obvious, but there are four other hands he can see and, for a second, his brain won’t tell him which ones are Natasha’s. He figures it out soon enough - right hip, left flank, and then Clint’s own are on his thighs, one hand over that one of Steve’s. 

“You good?” Sam says. 

“Yep,” Clint answers, and flashes him a wavering smile. “Yeah, just…”

“I _said_ go slow,” Nat tells him, and Clint kneels up over Steve’s cock - Steve makes a funny noise about it - and then grins, runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“I’m good,” he says.

“Yeah well be careful how good you are,” Sam tells him. “Remember I got my dick in his mouth.”

“I beg to differ,” Steve says, and Sam looks down at him. “Go on,” he says, wry, “shut me up.”

Sam bites back a smile in favor of trying to give Steve a _look_ , but Steve cranes his neck - Sam has a second of _holy shit Steve Rogers is trying to get my dick in his mouth_ \- and Sam angles his dick downward again and guides it forward. He sees Steve’s mouth change shape and knows it for a smile a second later, but after that Sam can’t really see much of his face that isn’t his chin, and Steve swallows around him - just to prove that he can, Sam guesses.

“Aright,” he says, and drops a hand to Steve’s shoulder. 

“Mhh,” Clint says, and leans forward, reaches out to make a fist in the front of Sam’s shirt to pull him close.

Sam goes because why not, and they kiss in the middle, over Steve. From Clint’s enthusiasm, it feels like he’s been waiting a while. 

Steve does a little more of that swallowing stuff, but he loses patience soon enough - it’s hilarious. The guy can spend two days in a hand-dug hole to wait for an enemy, but not six seconds with a dick down his throat. Sam moves his hips just to check, and Steve’s fingers on his thigh tighten just a little. Steve’s head gives a little wiggle, which is definitely a nod, and so Sam sits back and starts moving, slow at first. He knows Steve’s good at this, he knows Steve wants to do this, but it never hurts to be careful. Sam watches the length of his own cock disappear into Steve’s mouth, pulling it right back to the head with every stroke so that Steve can flick his tongue over it, so Sam can rub the head over that gorgeous lower lip. He does it once, and then the second time he holds it right there in front of Steve so Steve can suckle the head, tongue swirling inside the seal his lips have made. Sam lets it wash over him, tips his head back and sighs.

Pleasure’s welcome after a fight - always is - and it makes the tension bleed from his back and his shoulders, opens something up in him that was closed off, and he looks at Barnes. Barnes is looking back at him which Sam is mildly surprised by - he thought Barnes’d be looking at Steve. Still, out of all of them, Barnes has more time for Sam than he does for anyone else (not that he’d ever admit it). It’s not out of any maliciousness or dislike, Sam’s pretty sure. It’s just that Clint treats him with respect, and Thor treats him like he treats Steve. Natasha treats him like they’re the same, but Sam…It’s probably not right to say Sam treats him like a friend. He does, but they all do. But with Sam it’s something else - a twitch to his lips that Sam doesn’t see when he looks at the others. Not yet, at least, and it might be that simple - Sam had Steve’s back in DC. Maybe that’s what it takes to pass muster with the Sergeant.

Sam looks down at Steve and strokes the side of his face, the length of his collarbone. Clint, apparently as impatient as Steve, immediately starts kneeling up and back down on Steve’s cock, and Sam watches him do it until the low, guttural groan Steve gives him in response, vibrating its way up Sam’s spine while he tries to keep his pace slow and steady. He’s fairly close already - watching Steve get railed by the Black Widow, with Clint’s hand in his shorts, didn’t do him any favors as far as longevity’s concerned.

Steve lifts his hand from Clint’s leg and Sam watches it all the way until it taps him on the knee, and then he pulls out.

“Yeah?” he says, and Steve, lips spit-slick and already red from the stretch, eyes open wide and clear, says,

“You gonna fuck my face at any point?” with his voice wavering just slightly every time Clint drops back onto his cock. 

“That what you want?” Sam asks, bringing his hand up under Steve’s chin to stroke it down over his chest, flattening his palm out so his fingers catch a nipple.

“Pretty please,” Steve smirks, and Sam resolves to go easy on him - they had a rough day today - but to give him as much of what he wants while doing so. “ ’Less you wanna fuck me next?” 

“I’ll think about it,” Sam says, and Steve nods.

“You think about it while you fuck my face?”

“Patience,” Barnes says, and all of them look at him - at least, Sam sees Steve, Clint and Nat’s heads turn, and assumes Thor’s looking as well. 

Clint doesn’t slow down though. 

Steve drops his head back to the bedding and blows out a heavy breath - Sam can feel it through the condom. 

“Please, Sir, I want some more,” Steve says, and sticks his tongue out again. 

“Y’all know what happens next in that story, right?” Sam says, easing his cock back in. “You know ‘more’ is off the table after that?”

“Hnnnnnggggg,” Steve answers, throat fluttering around Sam’s cock.

“Ohn,” he says without meaning to, and Steve makes three low, long noises that sound like the first one.

Sam realizes it’s a laugh, slow and satisfied, and rolls his eyes.

“A’right,” he says, and draws back. “Alright.”

He doesn’t fuck Steve’s throat as hard as he could. He’s not bruising his tissue or choking him out, he just sinks himself into the hot wetness of it and lets himself enjoy it. Thrust after thrust, all he’s got to do is keep his balance mostly - and he can use Steve for that too if he needs to. He shuts his eyes and breathes nice and deep, lets the shit they had to deal with today leave like it was never there in the first place. The sound of Clint’s skin on Steve’s, as his ass and thighs meet Steve’s thighs and stomach, the smell of sweat, the salt on his tongue. Steve sucks at him while he moves.

“Good,” he sighs, setting one hand on his hip while he settles the other on Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s good.”

Steve has a very pretty mouth, and he’s very good with it, and his fingers flex on Sam’s thigh when Sam starts to speed up. 

Sam’s never really sure how Steve does it, but there comes a point when Steve’s taking all of him that Steve’s throat just opens up. When Steve’s on his knees for Sam, he’s good at using his hands and alternating how deep he’ll take him and how hard he sucks and what he does with his tongue, but every time Sam’s in his throat, he just relaxes and takes it all. It’s pretty impressive and it feels amazing but, most of all, it means Sam doesn’t have to worry about a goddamn thing.

He looks down and watches his cock moving past Steve’s lips, back and forth, of the shine of the condom over his skin and the way Steve’s tongue curves around the girth of it with every thrust.

“That’s good, baby,” Sam says, because it _is_ , and Steve lifts one hand off Clint and rubs it over his torso before he puts it back. 

It’s not a signal - he probably didn’t even realize he’d done it - but it is an indication of what he wants. Sam catches Clint’s eye and Clint grins, bobbing up and down without a care in the world. One of Nat’s hands is playing with his nipple from behind, and Sam figures he can do the same, figures Steve might like it if he did. He leans forward over Steve, so that he can angle his hips downward, so that his dick will stay down Steve’s throat and he doesn’t have to hold it - all he has to do is keep pumping his hips. Then he frames Steve’s chest with his hands - partially for balance but mostly for fun - and starts rubbing his thumbs over Steve’s nipples, back and forth, back and forth.

Steve’s hips lift to meet Clint the next time he’s on the downstroke, and he arches his back a little under Sam’s hands like a confirmation - boy loves getting his nipples played with - and Sam watches the hand Steve has on Clint’s thigh move, twitch inward, until he’s got his hand right about where Clint’s dick comes down every time he gets flush with Steve. Clint gets it straight away and stops moving, so Steve can stroke the backs of his fingers along the underside of his dick. He does it gentle, despite how much he must be feeling all at once, and Clint tries rocking into Steve’s fist for a little bit instead of bouncing on his cock. Steve seems to think that’s a good idea.

Clint wets his lips and keeps going, just little movements of his hips while Steve keeps his grip tight, and Sam doesn’t let up at all - it gets harder to stop with every second. He does have to pause to resettle his knees - they keep sliding outward and his spine feels like it’s gonna melt any second - but Clint uses the opportunity to catch his eye and nod down at his hands. Sam lifts his head a little in question and Clint nods at his hands and then jerks his head to one side.

_Move your hands._

Sam does, draws them up Steve’s chest and onto Steve’s shoulders so he’s kneeling upright over Steve’s head again, and Clint puts his hands on Steve’s ribcage and leans down, down, until he’s almost belly to belly with Steve, his cock still gripped tight in Steve’s fist, and closes his mouth over Steve’s nipple. 

“Hmm,” Steve answers, and his fingers curl in the fabric of Sam’s shorts. 

Clint answers with a moan a second later, and Sam can see Nat doing something down where Steve’s inside of Clint. He doesn’t know if she’s putting her fingers in or just maybe massaging Clint’s balls or something, but Clint likes whatever it is, the little thrusts of his hips speed up a little. 

He switches nipples after a moment or two, draws back with the little bright point still between his teeth before he finally lets it go to focus on the other one, and Steve’s torso kind of twists, just a little, to follow. When he starts on the other one, Steve makes another of those little noises and takes a breath through his nose the next time Sam’s almost all the way out, and Clint’s back does something that makes him move funnily.

“How you doing?” Sam asks, and Clint makes a noise that’s a little less in control than they were a minute ago. 

Steve makes one too, and Clint shakes his head, lifts his head, puts it back down on Steve’s chest, hands up between himself and Steve.

“Aw fuck,” he bites out, and Nat smirks at Sam, and then Clint’s making long, drawn out noises and his hips jerk erratically for a few seconds, his breathing goes funny. 

“What’s she doing to you?” Sam asks, and she purses her lips to keep from smiling.

“Maybe I’ll show you next,” she says, and Sam chuckles as Clint comes to a stop.

Sam still hasn’t decided on his next move - he doesn’t know if he’s going to come with his cock in Steve’s mouth or get Steve on top of him. Ever since Steve said ‘ride’ it’s felt like a pretty good idea, thanks. 

Clint lies on top of Steve for a minute, getting his breath back, and then he plants a wet kiss in the middle of Steve’s chest and pushes himself upright, reaching back to do something to Natasha. She sticks hear head around the side of him in response a moment later, and Sam isn’t sure what’s happening until Clint brings both hands up like paws and moves them from side to side at the same time, at which point his brain reengages enough to recognize the ASL for _move._

Oh right, Nat’s still in Steve. 

Then Clint looks at Sam, and makes the ‘knock knock’ looking sign for _yes_ , followed by the scrunching-his-index-finger-a-few-times that denotes a question mark.

Presumably they’re using sign so Steve can’t hear them but yeah, Nat moving sounds like a good idea to Sam, so he nods, glad of the warning Steve isn’t going to get - still, in the years Sam’s been participating in this kind of stuff with Steve, Steve’s never actually bitten him once. Except when he asked nicely. 

He knows when Nat starts because, firstly, Steve’s whole body _shudders_ , and the hand on Sam’s thigh comes down to slap at the bedclothes, the fingers of the hand on Clint’s leg biting in suddenly. Secondly, he makes a noise around Sam’s cock that makes Sam’s eyes close without his doing it on purpose, and then Steve’s torso kind of lifts off the bedding a little. It’s at this point Clint starts to move in time with Nat, and Steve’s hands move, scrabble, Sam can feel sudden tension in the depth of Steve’s throat. 

“Y’a’right, Steve?” Sam asks, breathless, but it’s not a question that needs an answer. 

Clint speeds up because he can - because he’s not distracted trying to hold his own orgasm back any longer, and Sam can _hear_ the noise of the warbler as Nat thrusts it into Steve over and over. 

Steve lets go of Sam’s thigh, stops coordinating his movements at all, actually, and starts pushing against Clint’s legs before he manages to stop himself, grabbing at the bedclothes again for a second before there’s kind of a head-shake around Sam’s cock. Steve’s back arches again, his fists white-knuckled in the bedding, and then he makes a wet, garbled noise around Sam and his shoulders kind of wobble, and then his hips are pushing up, up into Clint so hard that Clint has to kneel up to accommodate it. 

Sam pulls out to give Steve a shot at breathing through the aftershocks, and he looks nothing so much as surprised as he gasps for air. 

“Oh!” he says, and scrunches his whole face up - Nat’s slowing down but she hasn’t stopped yet. “Ohfuck-”

Clint comes to rest and sits still, and Steve holds his breath for a second, shoulders hunching, before he manages to open his eyes again. Sam leans back a little so he can lift his head and look down his body at Clint.

“Uhn,” he says, and Clint laughs. 

“Yeah, me too, Cap,” he says, and pats Steve twice on the chest. 

Then he eases himself forward and Steve makes a soft sound as Clint gets up. Steve’s cock is starting to look a little softer than it did before.

“Fuck,” Clint mutters with a smile, pulling off his condom to knot it.

He takes it with him as he wobbles off towards the couch, and Nat pulls out of Steve slowly (he still makes a couple of unsteady noises) to sit back on her heels. 

“So,” she says, and he reaches down and tugs his cock twice, maybe to get rid of a little of the sensitivity.

It’s only half hard now - or maybe that should be halfway soft - but he winces when he does it, inching closer to too-sensitive with every passing minute.

“Yeah,” he answers, and Sam moves back some more to give him air. 

“Can I get it next?” Clint asks and, when they look at him, he’s looking at Nat and the warbler. 

She looks amused, though they’d never point it out, and gets up, too. 

“After,” she says, stripping the condom off the dildo. 

Steve tips his head back to look at Sam, and then turns as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting perpendicular to Sam by the time he’s got his legs under him. 

“Hey,” he says. “I taste of latex. Gonna be a problem?”

“Hell no,” Sam answers, and kisses him. 

One of Steve’s hands comes up to rub his chest through his shirt, but they part soon enough.

“How d’you want me?” 

It’s the same question he asked Nat, but Sam isn’t sure yet. 

“Kinda want you to ride me,” he says, and Steve gives him a wide, lazy smile.

“Sounds perfect,” he says. “Where d’you wanna be?” 

Sam looks around and shrugs, picks the spot on the couch he was sitting in before. 

“Couch?”

“Sure,” Steve says, and gets fluidly to his feet like he hasn’t just had his fourth orgasm since they’ve been home, like he wasn’t just in the middle of a fourway. 

Then he holds out a hand to help Sam up because of course he does. 

Sam takes it, lets Steve haul him onto his feet, lets Steve haul him close for a kiss, lets Steve walk him backwards to the couch. 

“You got a condom?” Steve says as Sam sits, and Thor passes one to Natasha, who passes it to Clint, who passes it to Sam. 

“Let me,” Sam tells him, and Steve puts both hands on his hips and watches, mirth dancing in his eyes. 

When he’s done, Sam gives the foil packet back to Clint and then gives Steve’s cock a couple of strokes because it’s right there in front of him. 

“Who’s got the lube?” Steve says when he’s done - he’s half-hard right now, but it looks like that might be his new limit.

“It’s on the floor,” Nat answers, “but there’s another one over here.”

She produces a bottle and passes it to Clint, who gives it to Sam. Sam looks up at him and smiles.

“Let me,” he says again, and Steve pulls a face that says _if that’s what you want_ , and then drops his shoulders and lowers his lashes. 

He lets his arms hang by his sides and keeps his eyes on Sam’s, and lifts first one leg to press his knee into the cushioning beside Sam’s thigh, and then the other, hands coming up to the back of Sam’s neck as he does. 

Once he’s over Sam’s lap, he ducks his head for a kiss, slow and sweet, and Sam can work a pump bottle with his eyes closed, so that’s what he does. 

He gets lube in his hand and reaches around Steve but, just as he’s about to get it on him, Steve breaks the kiss to look down at him. They are very close, Steve’s skin flushed and sweaty, and Steve’s fingers move minutely against the nape of Sam’s neck, his thumbs resting against the soft spots beneath Sam’s ears. He wets his lips, and makes sure he’s looking straight at Sam when Sam presses three wet fingers up against his hole, only for his eyes to flutter closed. He makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat, lips parting gently, but his gaze finds Sam’s again soon enough. 

Sam gets lube on his dick, a couple of brief strokes to coat it, and then Steve’s leaning forward to get Sam to lean into the back of the couch. Once he’s got Sam where he wants him, he reaches back, down, and wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock, guiding it upward so he can press the tip into his ass - just the tip. 

“Fuck,” Sam mutters, because it actually doesn’t seem to matter how many people fuck Steve’s ass, he’s always hot, and he’s rarely loose. 

They have to do a lot to him to make him loose. 

Steve waits there for a long few moments, clenching around the head of Sam’s cock like he’s testing him, and then he sinks down an inch or so and comes back up, down again but further, further still the third time, slow and smooth, until they’re both groaning when he comes to rest. 

“You good for more?” Sam says. “I don’t wanna steal anybody’s good time.”

“Oh sure,” Steve says, moving his hips a little as he pretends to get comfortable - Sam’s pretty sure he’s comfortable already and it’s just a ruse to get something out of Sam. “I’m good for another one after, probably two.”

Sam shakes his head and brings his hands up to Steve’s waist. One of his hands is covered in lube but neither of them care right now, and he looks down at Steve’s half-hard dick.

“Who’s doin’ the work here, you wanna move or me?” Sam asks, and Steve laughs.

“I’ll do it,” he says. “By the time I’m done I won’t be able to move so I might as well take advantage while I can.”

Sam nods. That’s fine by him - that means he gets to just sit here and watch.

~

Clint will quite happily sit and watch for the rest of the afternoon, and she doesn’t mind. If that’s what he wants, she’s not about to deny him it. Steve is very broad shouldered and very narrow hipped, and he looks good in Sam’s lap, even if he does sometimes look just a little impossible to her eyes.

“Can I suck it?” Clint murmurs.

“Put your plug back in first,” she says, and he dutifully does indeed go and fetch the plug from where she put it aside.

She stood it on its base so it hasn’t picked up any carpet fibers, and he comes back and kneels at her feet while he puts it back in. Then he puts his hands on her knees. 

“Now?” he says.

She opens her hand, palm up, and gestures at the warbler.

_Be my guest._

He grins and shuffles close - the warbler might be bumpy but it’s still easy enough to warm it in his throat, and Clint is a little more submissive than Steve ever is. Steve likes to do as he’s told to get what he wants, whereas Clint likes to do as he’s told. Steve’s only exception to that rule is Barnes, for whom he will do anything just because it’s _Barnes_ and Clint only does this for Natasha, so she can see why he and Clint get along so well.

“Need anything?” she asks, and Steve, whose hands are on Sam’s shoulders shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and Sam nods a little, glances at her, and then puts his head against the back of the couch.

“No,” he says.

Steve drags one hand down from Sam’s shoulder, over his chest, and starts to move, and Sam shuts his eyes and bites his lip, and grabs at Steve’s ass with both hands. He’s not really doing much more than maintaining contact - Steve’s fucking himself on Sam’s cock, and doesn’t need any help with the movement. It’s always sorta fun to watch Sam lose control a little.

Steve’s way less uptight than he used to be, but Sam sometimes forgets they all care about him, too. 

“I put my hands under your shirt?” Steve asks, voice soft, and Sam nods.

He looks down between them while Steve eases his hands under the hem of Sam’s tee, and settles his hands on Steve’s thighs when Steve flattens his palms on Sam’s stomach. Nat was surprised, that first time, that Sam would want to keep his clothes on. In the time they’ve spent together, they’ve seen each other half-naked and naked and in various other states of undress just because it’s a hazard of the job.

If you get shot, is your priority the fact that you’re not wearing a matching bra, or stopping the bleeding? 

(Here’s a secret - wearing a matching bra is almost literally never a priority. Ever.)

But Sam is sometimes less willing to undress than the rest of them, and the decision is his to make.

Clint starts warming the warbler and, over on the couch, Steve ducks his head and starts sucking Sam’s neck while he rides him, bobbing up and down while Sam squeezes his ass, and that’s something else Steve didn’t need much teaching about. Technique and preparation? Sure. How to put somebody else’s pleasure first?

That was a skill that didn’t need honing, actually.

It’s strange to think of it in the middle of everything they’re doing right now, but that fact probably comes from his having grown up when he did. It’s like the winters she’d endured in Russia, in that there are two ways to go about it - you either look out for everyone or look out for yourself.

That was the difference between an apartment in Brooklyn and the Red Room, she supposes. Steve doesn’t like to hear her say it, of course, but it’s true.

“Oh, fuck, Sam,” he says, his voice low, like a secret between the two of them, and she watches the curve of his spine and the strength in his thighs, and the beautiful contrast of Sam’s hands on his skin, the length of Sam’s throat.

“Yeah, come on,” Sam mutters, and Steve smiles - speeds up a little. 

He hitches Sam’s shirt up accidentally while he’s stroking his torso, and then he immediately removes one hand to tug the hem back down, and she smiles before she looks down at Clint. Clint has his eyes closed because he’s perfectly happy where he is. 

Steve says something quiet to Sam - she doesn’t catch it - and Sam gives him an unsteady sort of chuckle in return and says,

“Oh sure, sure,” _just_ loudly enough that she can hear it. “You wanna draw up a chart?” 

Steve tips his head back to laugh, and then brings his face very close to Sam’s. 

She understands, of course. Sam is closer to him than maybe any of them except Bucky, and Bucky seems sometimes to be more at ease with Sam than any of the rest of them, too - it doesn’t surprise her. For Steve, and for Bucky, the closest they have to the ‘shared experience’ Steve used to talk about, is Sam. Sam, who fought hard and did what was right and lost the other half of his soul to something he couldn’t prevent. Sam, who didn’t know how to be a person through the things he’d endured.

Steve kisses him softly, brings his other hand up too so he’s cradling Sam’s head in his hands while they kiss, and one of Sam’s hands strokes up his spine and back again once or twice before disappearing back around him. 

There’s a moment or two where she thinks Sam might be readjusting his grip, but then the tension across Steve’s shoulders changes, he breathes in hard through his nose, and draws back just enough to free his mouth, pressing his forehead to Sam’s.

“Ohn,” he says, just quietly, but it’s enough to convey what Sam’s doing with that hand.

“Come on, baby,” Sam says softly, “that’s it, you got another one for me?”

Steve sort of laughs, and then he goes faster, but his expression changes completely. It’s a good thing - it means they’re doing their unofficial jobs correctly. Sam’s close, she can hear it in his voice, but Steve’s overwhelmed, and hypersensitive, and he’s not far off another orgasm himself. 

“Ahh, Sam,” he says, and his hands come down and interfere with Sam’s, but evidently not enough to stop him.

“No?” Sam says, smiling, though it’s strained. “No?” 

“Sam,” Steve answers, and he leans back a little, head back, stretches his whole body out and now she can see Sam’s arm moving between them then. 

Steve actually sounds like it stings this time, and his body jerks in a couple of unusual ways when he comes. He grabs for the back of the couch and almost tears the fabric, she hears the sound of it, hears the creak of the frame. His movements falter too, he can’t keep the steady rhythm going like this, hips snapping forward and then forward again, his body bending in two suddenly at the waist. 

Then he’s pulling Sam’s hand away from his cock and shaking his head as he pants. 

“A’right,” he says. “A’right, come on,” but Sam avoids him, takes his hand out of Steve’s and goes back. “Sam!”

Sam just laughs.

“What, you need me to stop?”

“Sam, come on-”

“You need me to stop?”

Steve laughs, but it’s meant for just the two of them - small and slow and quiet, just between themselves.

Steve comes to rest in Sam’s lap and kisses him some more as he comes down again. Sam’s still hard in him right now, but she can’t imagine it’ll be that way for much longer. In fact, even as she’s thinking it, Steve kneels up and smirks down at Sam.

“Go on,” he says. “Go right ahead.”

Sam scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and looks Steve up and down, but he grabs him by the waist a moment later - not that he needs to - and slouches in his seat to get more leverage before he starts snapping his hips up against Steve’s ass. Steve grabs for the back of the couch and moans at him, but he’s back to smiling, and very definitely having a good time while Sam fucks up into Steve with all the strength he’s got. It’s easy, in a room with two enhanced people and a demigod, to forget how strong the rest of them are, but the sound of Sam’s thighs and hips hitting Steve’s ass is enough to remind her, at least. 

She puts her hand in Clint’s hair and he just leans against her, as he’s wont to do. 

“Don’t you wanna see?” she says to him, and he pulls off without any effort at all.

He literally has no gag reflex, it’s ridiculous.

Steve hisses a breath in through his teeth and looks down at Sam, but Sam’s got his eyes shut and his mouth open, and Steve lifts one hand and pinches his nipple through his shirt just as Sam comes.

“Fuck,” Sam spits, hips shoved right up against Steve, and Steve just watches him, amused. 

Sam’s head goes back against the couch and his fingers go tight on Steve’s waist, and then Steve follows him down when the tension goes out of him and gives him another of those little laughs. 

“Good job, airman,” he says, and unfolds his legs to get off.

“Man, shut up,” Sam says, but he’s smiling even if he is out of breath.

Steve is, she notes, not nearly as hard as he was. He’s maybe got one more in him, two if he’s lucky, but he could quit now and they’d be just fine.

“Alright,” Steve says, “what’s next?”

“Thor is,” Bucky answers, and Steve looks first at him, and then at Thor.

“Whaddya say?” he asks, and points at Thor’s cock, which has hardly softened at all. “You want one?”

“Gladly,” he answers. “Come here to me.”

Clint makes a little noise at her, and she acquiesces.

“I think we’re going,” she says, before the rest of them can get started, and then she looks down at Clint. “Someone’s getting impatient.”

“It’s me,” Clint says, raising a hand, “I’m getting impatient.”

Steve laughs and waves a hand at her as she and Clint get to their feet.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “And thanks.”

She raises an eyebrow at him as Clint goes on ahead of her. 

_«Anytime,»_ she says.

~

He’s always known Midgardians would be fun, just from the stories he’d been told in his youth. He’d thought them little at the time, weak, something to be looked on for amusement like small animals, but it’s not so.

Time has changed all of them, and the things they’ve seen and done have brought them together. He’s endlessly grateful for things like this - not so much the sex, although he wouldn’t turn it down, nor the athleticism of sharing a bedpartner who _requires_ multiple partners for his own comfort. But the closeness of others whose respect and admiration are not only equal to his own, but equal to their shared affections also.

“How would you like him?” Thor asks, and James walks towards them this time.

With Clint and Natasha gone, only the four of them remain.

“I want to see,” James answers, easily, matter-of-factly.

“You still want me around?” Samuel asks, and James doesn’t look at him but nods nonetheless.

“Sure,” he says. “You like bein’ watched, no?” 

Steven, who has now come to stand beside Thor, turns to look at James.

“That’s me,” he says. 

James nods, and comes a little closer. 

“Go on then,” he says.

Steven hesitates a little, leans forward just a touch. It’s something he often does when he reaches this point. Something Thor recognized in him long ago, before James even returned to him, was that one of Steven’s greatest needs is closeness. Be it an embrace after fighting or eating shoulder to shoulder, even just a slap on one’s back as they pass, Steven needs closeness in a way he doesn’t need much else. 

“Come to me,” Thor says again, and Steven does, leans down toward him so that Thor can kiss him.

He’s not a small man, for a Midgardian, and he’s strong for one too, attractive in many ways. Steven removes his condom and knots it, throwing it into one of the waste baskets. His aim is perfect, of course. 

“You got another?” he asks.

“You don’t need one,” James answers, and Steven looks at him.

“What would you like for him?” Thor asks of James, and James shakes his head. 

“Anything you like,” he says. “But I want to see.”

Steven bites his lip as he stares at James, before he turns his head to look at Thor. 

“Perhaps you’ll manage another before I give you over to him?” Thor asks, and Steven smiles. 

“Sure,” he says. “If I disappoint, there’s always Sam.”

Thor glances at Samuel, at the glittering amusement in his eyes.

“Oh, he and I’ll make our own fun afterward,” he says. 

Steven looks interested by the prospect but his afternoon is coming to a close. 

“Come on,” Thor tells him. “Stand before me.”

And Steven does. He stands facing Thor until Thor turns him around, and then he hooks his arm about Steven’s waist to seat him properly. Steven’s not yet taken Thor inside of him again, but there may be no need for it. He’s flagging somewhat now - which is the point of all this - and he sits with his back to Thor’s chest and his legs either side of Thor’s lap. 

“Put your hands on my head,” Thor tells him, trying to keep his voice low and purposeful, watching James watch the two of them together.

Steven does as he’s told and lifts both arms up, brings his hands to the back of Thor’s head, and then waits, and Thor passes both of his hands down Steven’s body, from his chest to his hips. 

Steven is not a slender man, but all men feel slight to Thor, almost without exception.

“Here,” he says softly, and brings his palm up between Steven’s legs to cup his genitals gently. “You’ve worked hard so far.”

“Oh sure,” Steve says, a little breathless and, while his cock doesn’t fill completely any longer, it’s still thick and warm in Thor’s hand, “tough job but somebody’s gotta.”

“Hmm,” Thor answers. “Sit still.”

Steven doesn’t have time to ask him why - although the answer would be obvious if he did - for Thor wraps his fingers tight and strokes steadily, with a reasonable amount of strength. Steven himself could continue for most of the day if he so chose; his stamina is admirable. But his skin becomes too sensitized, his thresholds fall too low. 

“Ah, _ah_ ,” he says, not yet in pain but not far from it. 

It doesn’t truly hurt him, not in the traditional sense of it, but in that his mind and body cannot understand the acuteness of the pleasure, nor the depth of what they feel. It is not pain, yet they must guide him through it and encourage him onward.

He tenses in Thor’s lap and his hips move backward, as though to escape. Thor answers him with a gentle hum against his throat, and pulls harder. 

Steven’s genitals rest on his thighs and he can feel the movement of them with each tug, and so he brings his other hand inward, to press against Steven’s lower stomach and keep the flesh taut. Steven’s cock is near to hard in Thor’s fingers, though not completely, and curves to the shape of the inside of his fist as he strokes. It makes downward strokes more complicated, and so he forgoes them entirely - pulling upward to twist his fist over the head as he lets go, and repeating that instead.

“Oh,” Steven says softly, a tremor in his voice.

“Look at me,” James tells him, and Steven lifts his head to do as James asks him.

“Yeah?” he says, and James just looks at him for a long few moments. 

“Can you go any faster?” he says, and Thor bites back a smile as he complies.

“No- Oh, _ah_ Bucky,” Steven says, his voice stretched thin over the pleasure of it, and his hips kick backward again, as though to escape.

He has nowhere to go. 

He breathes out harshly, his feet pushing against the floor - Thor can feel the shift in his weight - and he leans back into Thor’s chest as his hips roll forward, upward. 

“Ah, God,” he mutters, and his head drops forward - perhaps to see Thor’s hands on him - before he lifts his head again and looks at James.

Thor moves faster, because he knows how little it takes now, and Steven goes rigid, holds his breath. His fingers curl tight in Thor’s hair, his back arches away from Thor’s body, and then his hips follow the movement of Thor’s hand as he strokes, Steven’s cock drooling semen over Thor’s fingers. 

“Oh, _ah_ that’s-” Steven says, and he tries his best to keep his head up and his body back, to stop himself escaping the overabundance of sensation. 

When he lets go of Thor’s hair without meaning to, he still shows remarkable control - instead of pulling Thor’s hand away, he simply holds onto Thor’s wrists and rides out the storm. 

He is a very attractive young man, most of his colleagues are. Although, he supposes wryly, it might be about time to call them friends. 

“There,” Thor says softly, once he’s ceased the movements of his hand, and he presses a kiss to the back of Steven’s shoulder, to the side of his neck. “There you are.”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, breathless, turning his head back so that he can meet Thor’s mouth with his own. “I’m pretty close to bein’ done, Buck.”

And they both look at James. 

James has not moved. James doesn’t appear to be thinking about moving now, either. 

“One more,” he says, and Steve takes a breath. 

“Bucky,” he says, shaking his head a little, but James folds his arms. 

“You can,” he says. “I know you can. One more.”

Steven takes a few moments to breathe, to sit still in Thor’s lap and, slowly, he lets go of Thor’s wrists.

His skin is slick with sweat and flushed everywhere that Thor can see, but he loves James more than anything else in the nine realms. Besides which, he rarely turns down a challenge. 

“Alright,” he breathes. “Okay. How d’you want me, Buck? Huh? Tell me this time, whaddya want?” 

And James stares at him - despite Thor and Samuel being in the same room, he almost always only has eyes for Steven.

“I want you to ride him,” he says. “Face me.”

And Steven looks down at his body, and then over his shoulder at Thor. 

“Yeah?” he says.

“Aye,” Thor answers, and lets him up. 

Thor uses a condom, because it’s polite to do so, but Steven does not. He reaches out for one but James shakes his head as he does. 

“No,” he says. “I wanna see it all, all’a you.”

Besides which, Steven’s cock is only almost-hard now. 

When Steven stands, he is unsteady, and Thor holds out an arm for him to use as support. 

“Alright,” James says as Thor arranges himself to take Steven. “Down you go.”

~

Steve’s tiring now, at least - reaching the end point of their afternoon.

“Uh, ahhh,” he says eloquently as Thor sits him down again, and his brow is furrowed, and his mouth is all red because he chews his lips, and Thor pulls Steve into his lap and then just-

God, Thor’s strong - it’s terrifying how strong he is, actually, and Steve only flails a little when Thor lifts him bodily from the waist. He grabs Thor’s wrists a moment later when he figures out what’s happening, and it pulls his shoulders back, stretches the muscles of his chest. His head is back anyway, halfway to bracing himself,and he looks like he’s about to collapse in on himself. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans, not that he’s actually as averse to it as his expression would make it seem.

“Would you like to stop?” Thor asks, and Bucky smiles.

Steve’s breathless and sweaty and there’s still tension in his muscles, but he huffs a laugh even as his mouth turns down. 

“Oh no,” he says, less of an answer and more of an exclamation. “Agh, God,” and Bucky gets right up in front of him and takes Steve’s head in his hands. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, laying it on thick because that’s the way Steve likes it, “informed consent, you wanna keep going?”

“Fuck me,” Steve answers on a breath that warms Bucky’s lips, “him and then you, I want it.”

And then his mouth drops open, his eyes close tight.

“Ohn,” he says shakily, practically into Bucky’s mouth, and Thor chuckles, low and slow and smug. “Ohn, f-uh-”

Steve's helpless to resist it when Thor gathers both of his hands back behind him, so that Steve’s stretched out for all of them to look at. Thor angles Steve's body slowly, allowing the anticipation to build before he shifts his hips just a little, his great strength making light work of Steve's bulk. Steve is entirely at Thor's mercy, and his legs cinch either side of Thor's thighs as Thor lowers him slowly, far more slowly than he needs to, to drive himself into Steve's body. Steve sinks carefully because that’s how Thor lowers him, face pinched except for his wide-open mouth. It doesn’t hurt, that’s not what hurt looks like on Steve’s face. Hurt doesn’t have his brows turned up in the middle, doesn’t have his mouth open wide, that pretty Cupid’s bow an arch of pleasure, that full lower lip wet and red. 

So Thor drags him backward until he’s fully seated in Steve, and Steve's limp and boneless and but still wants more, Bucky can see it. His cock is finally losing the will to stay hard, barely swollen at all, but it's still oozing precome – Bucky doesn't even know how – and still perks up visibly almost immediately, although not even nearly all the way.

Thor runs one careful hand down Steve's torso and back, without touching his cock. It twitches weakly anyway, a bitten back gasp not quiet stifled from Steve.

“Damn,” Sam mutters, and Steve huffs a laugh that might sound hysterical if it were any louder.

“It hurtin'?” Bucky asks and Steve, who’s holding himself very, very still, shakes his head minutely, such a helpless expression on his face that Bucky’s almost surprised by it. “Hmm, let’s take a look at you,” he says, and steps back just a little, notes the little sway Steve gives him as if to follow, and it’s Thor who obliges Bucky a moment later - Steve’s too far gone to realize what he means, but Thor understands. 

Slowly, mostly to wring Steve out completely, Thor spreads his legs as wide as he can and, with Steve’s thighs cinching the outside of his own, it’s not just his own thighs he spreads. Lust draws his body tight as Thor exposes all of him, leaves his legs spread and his cock and his balls right there, with no support, the center of attention hanging heavy with blood, swollen from the afternoon’s activity. Steve gasps and gulps and pants as Thor does it, desperate breaths as Thor spreads him by proxy. And Thor soothes with gentle sounds against Steve’s shoulder, the side of his neck.

“Ogh,” Steve says, stretched wide and tipped back, “ogh, f- fuck, _fuck,_ Bucky, Bucky-”

“Shh, sh, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and strokes the backs of his fingers down Steve’s torso because he can, brings his mouth close enough that Steve thinks he’s getting kissed, and then doesn’t kiss him.

 _“Ah,”_ Steve says, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Whatssamater you?” he says, soft, knows his grinning but he can’t help it - what’s better than this? “Huh? Whassamatter, Stevie?”

“Buh-,” Steve answers, sounding halfway miserable, and Bucky laughs, it just bubbles up out of him.

“God, you’re so far gone,” he says, and he sees Steve pull himself back a little in defiance. 

“Who you callin’-” he says, and Bucky cracks up, hears Sam snort behind him. “C’mere’n kiss me,” and Bucky does, it’d be unfair not to.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says when he pulls away again. “You’re okay, relax, I gotcha,” and Steve does relax a little. 

It’s not like he needs permission, but it’s nice that he waits for Bucky to tell him he’s safe - he goes lax again, lets himself kind of settle back against Thor. 

“Mhm, lemme take care of you a little,” Bucky tells him, and he’s gotta be careful - Steve never liked being _taken care of_ \- but Bucky doesn’t give him long enough to get worked up about it. 

He starts mouthing his way down Steve’s body instead.

“Oh,” Steve says, just as shakily as he’s said everything else since Sam got done with him, “oh- _oh_ , ah, I-”

Bucky crouches to keep going, mouthing a path down to Steve’s lower stomach and stops, at which point Steve makes another little set of bitten-back sounds, and then Bucky just pushes against Steve’s thighs with his hands. Steve groans, even though Bucky’s well aware he can do a full box-split in the middle of hand-to-hand without breaking a sweat, but that’s because he usually hasn’t come a bunch before box-splits-in-combat. Sure, he can do it, but right now it’s an effort.

Thor’s cock shines, wet and hard where it disappears into Steve, gripped by the bright red flesh that's been so used and stretched, and Bucky knows Steve cannot help at all the long, hopeless sound that scrapes up his raw throat, the moan of want and pain-slash-pleasure that he can't control any more than he can will the rain not to fall. 

“God, look at you,” Sam breathes from where he’s still sprawled on the couch, and Bucky looks up to find Steve ducking his head. 

“Aye, you're a sight,” Thor rumbles against Steve's neck, and Steve trembles in his grasp, a shuddering breath skittering soft over his swollen lips. “Perhaps we'll offer a better sight as a reward for Samuel’s assistance, hmm?” 

And he truly is beautiful this way, Bucky thinks. Beyond naked and sweaty, which appeals to Bucky regardless, there’s something about him when he lets himself be vulnerable this way. His eyes are half-closed but bright with affection, his expression pained with exertion though he lets them see it. And after all of it, he’ll still be Bucky’s. Steve's chest heaves, his own cock glistening, still hard above balls drawn tight with pleasure once more, Thor's cock a girth so great between Steve's legs that it barely looks possible that Steve’s taking it, even after everybody else, even though he’s already had it once.

“Keep you nice and tight for me,” Bucky says absently, stroking the stretched, wet flesh around Thor’s cock, and Steve gives a little groan that comes out a gurgle. 

Steve could stop him, even now with his arms held back. Steve could push him back and beg for mercy but, first, Steve doesn't ever beg for mercy and, second, Steve would never push him back. They've talked about it, of course - they had to. It took them long enough to get to a point where they could share something like this, longer still to share this with the rest of their friends, and they'd known from the first moment they tried to rekindle the physical aspect of their relationship that Steve wouldn't push him away. 

Bucky couldn't give him everything, not really. Certainly, he could only give some things under certain conditions. But if the fight on the helicarrier proved anything it was that Steve wouldn't put himself first even if his life depended on it, and so they'd _had_ to talk about it. It's one of the reason Steve has gestures and safewords now - he wouldn't be able to bring himself to push Bucky back, and they might face even more of a problem if Bucky weren't in the right frame of mind. 

So Steve couldn't push him back, but Steve doesn't use his words or his gestures either. 

"Bucky," he says, his voice as wrecked as he looks, and Bucky just keeps going, nice and slow, slow and steady with his metal fingers, his flesh palm flat against Steve's face.

"Look how good you are for me, sweetheart," he says. "Look how good you are for me."

Steve shakes life a leaf but he's got nowhere to go, his whole body's stretched to its limits.

"You got another one?" Bucky asks him, words soft against Steve's lips. "Got one more for me?"

"For you," Steve answers, "for you."

Bucky nods. 

“Ease up a little,” he says him.

 _“You_ ease up,” Steve answers on a breath. “God, Thor’s fuckin’… _huge_ …”

“Yeah, good job you like that then, ‘uh?” Bucky answers, and Steve laughs reedily. 

“Oh fuck,” he mutters a moment later. “Ahuh.”

“How about it, hm? He can keep you right there and I’ll keep you right here,” and he kneels down. 

“Oh,” Steve says unsteadily, “oh, Buck- Bucky-”

“Relax,” Bucky answers, smirking, “or don’t I guess, either way you’re not going anywhere, huh?”

“Mmm,” Thor agrees, and Bucky starts mouthing at Steve’s cock instead. 

“Nh- ah, _ah_ ,” Steve answers, and Bucky can see the muscles in his thighs tense. 

“What, sensitive?” Bucky asks, and he gets his metal fingers around Steve’s dick, angles it upward now it’s playing hard to get. Then he pulls Steve’s foreskin back with his other hand and then just suckles at the head, and Steve’s whole body locks up tight, there’s an audible creak of furniture as Steve tries to move and Thor stops him.Steve’s head goes back against Thor’s shoulder a moment later.

“Ogh Jesus!” Steve gasps, “Ah, aw, Jesus, Buck, that’s-”

Bucky just keeps his head down and does what he’s doing. 

Steve’s body works hard, Bucky can see as much - it’s not hard to tell when he’s got that much muscle definition, when all of his limbs are moving at once. Given that this is someone who’s been captured and tortured, who’s been injured repeatedly in the line of duty, who’s been ostracized and ridiculed, and still been begged for help when the need arose, it’s really nice to see him drop the stoicism. He doesn’t like to do it - never has - but he’ll do it for Bucky.

“Wh- come _o-on,”_ he whines, but he’s pretty much immobile - he can twist his torso but his dick is in Bucky’s mouth, and he’s pretty much pinned in place by Thor’s cock, arms still held back and out of the way.

He makes sweet little noises that sound like pain, and Bucky spends all of their time like this trying to get him to this point. He spent an afternoon edging Steve once, and holds that memory pretty dear. 

“Keep still,” Thor says, and Steve kind of does, startled into it kinda, and then sags back against Thor, not that it helps him much. 

Thor moves his hips nice and slow, long pull out, long thrust back in, and Steve sort of wiggles halfway through, apparently without meaning to. Then he groans through his teeth and jolts forward - trying to stop what’s happening maybe, but Thor pulls his arms back a little more. 

“Think you can come?” Bucky asks, and Thor responds with a long, low rumble of sound that’s somehow definitely an affirmative. “Excellent,” he says. “Go ahead.”

And so Thor does. He keeps Steve’s wrists behind Steve’s back with one hand, and uses the other to grip the underneath of Steve’s knee. Bucky opens his mouth and suckles the head just to hear Steve bite back a whine, and then swallows the slick, salty length of him whole as Thor lifts his leg.

If both Thor’s hands were free, he could hold Steve in mid-air and fuck him that way, but he doesn’t need to do it that way, not really. Keeping one leg up when both legs are spread so far anyway is enough to give him leverage, and make it so that he can fuck Steve hard with barely any movement. 

“Oh,” Steve answers, and Bucky can see him trying to get away, Steve’s body trying to get off Thor and shy away from Bucky, but they all know it’s futile. 

Each sound is a rasp now, or near enough, half-made and half-swallowed, his hair stuck to his skin with sweat, his skin flushed red, and dappled white where the muscle strains.

“Bucky,” he says, but he says it as he breathes inward so that it scarcely sounds like a word at all. 

“Come on,” Bucky says to Thor. “He can take it, take what you want.”

And Thor, stellar bedpartner that he is, absolutely does. He snaps his hips up and slams his cock into Steve over and over and over, jolting Steve’s body with every thrust, Steve’s cock hitting the back of Bucky’s throat each time. Bucky hears movement in the middle of all of it, from the couch behind him, and he’s aware of himself and his surroundings enough to know when Sam comes to kneel by his side. He pulls off Steve’s cock for a moment - Steve has been reduced to the same punched out exclamation as Thor’s thrusts knock the sounds from his chest - and looks at Sam, to find that Sam is lifting one hand between Steve and Bucky, not quite to feel Thor’s girth in him, not quite to help stroke Steve. 

He flashes Bucky a smile, and then presses three fingertips to Steve’s perineum where it’s wet and distended, and rubs in circles, crushing Steve’s prostate against Thor’s cock from the outside. 

Steve makes a high noise through his nose, and Bucky laughs, getting his mouth on Steve’s cock again just in time to swallow what little he’s got left to give, and he feels Thor’s thrusts turn erratic a moment later. 

He has to let go of Steve, lest Thor’s strength choke him on Steve’s cock but, once Thor stiffens, and spills his release into his condom with a groan, he starts stroking Steve’s inner thighs, brushing over his balls with the backs of his fingers. 

“Look,” Thor says softly, one hand still restraining both of Steve's. 

The other comes up to turn Steve's head, to make him look, and Bucky knows Steve obeys because he wants to, because he needs to know that he’s seen, needs to know that he’s wanted. Steve bites his lip and shakes his head but it’s alright. Bucky knows that feeling because Steve’s described it to him. Not-quite embarrassment washing over him like a rolling wave, warm and somehow decadent, like basking in sunlight. 

Bucky looks to Sam, who stares unashamedly downward, although Bucky can't tell if he’s staring at Steve’s cock or Thor's. When Bucky looks at Steve’s dick, it twitches with the clench of muscle around Thor’s length, and Steve winces as it does. 

“I think you’re done, no?” Bucky asks, and Steve kind of deflates in Thor’s arms, his head going back as his eyes close, breathing hard and irregularly. 

“Aye, he seems finished to me,” Thor answers, and he lets go of Steve’s hands. 

Then he brings his legs inward to close them somewhat, before he cups his hands under Steve’s thighs from behind and lifts him bodily off his cock. 

Steve moans at him but still tries to get his feet under him, and Bucky stops him halfway.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” he says, and kneels up enough to take hold of Steve as Thor lowers him, to help him back down into the bedding. 

“Bucky,” he breathes, and Bucky shakes his head and leans over him, smiling because he can’t help it.

“Room for a little one?” he says.

“What about you, Big Guy, you think you got time for me?” Sam asks Thor, and Bucky hears Thor rise from the couch.

“Your rooms or mine?” he asks, but Bucky doesn’t pay them any mind. 

“How d’you feel?” Bucky asks him, and Steve, who’s face is still a little flush, whose mouth is still a little slack, has to take a few deep breaths before he can answer.

He makes a small, juddery little noise before he says, “Amazing,” on a breath. “I want you.”

Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I can manage that.”

He pushes himself back so that he kneels next to Steve, and then strips his shirt off over his head. He realizes a moment later that the lube is over on the couch and so he shuffles over on his knees to get it and then comes back, and he shoves his pants down his thighs, along with his underwear, to kick them aside. 

“Bucky,” Steve says again, and lifts his hands to reach out for him. 

“I’m comin’,” Bucky answers, getting enough lube that it won’t matter what he does. 

He slicks his cock up quickly, biting back the urge to sit back and jerk off, and then gives Steve a nudge with his dry hand.

“Come on, sweetheart, on your side,” he says, and Steve reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss before he complies.

It’s a little bit of a mess considering Steve’s got barely any coordination left, but it’s warm and sweet and it’s _Steve_. Steve does as he’s asked with a groan a moment later, tipping himself onto his side. 

Bucky slots himself in behind him, getting one hand under Steve’s uppermost leg to lift it, before he eases his cock forward into him, taking the weight of the limb as Steve’s body rolls back against his own. Steve’s body is soft and open now, and Bucky sinks into him easily, both of them right where they’re supposed to be.

“God, I love you,” Steve murmurs, turns his head back over his shoulder for another kiss, which Bucky provides. “Hell of an afternoon.”

“Hmm, well don’t you worry about anything now, sweetheart,” Bucky answers. “We got as long as you need.”


End file.
